


Blue Eyes

by perryvic, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Branding, M/M, Object Insertion, Ownership, Problematic societies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:58:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 102,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perryvic/pseuds/perryvic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He arrived home with a file full of documents and pictures but the preliminary Choice had been signed and sealed. Jim just felt something right about it and yeah, maybe Choosing a boy wasn't what his parents had in mind, but they could get a surrogate heir if necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

She had bright brown hair that reached to the middle of her shoulder blades in wild ringlets that turned thick and frizzy in the middle of the summer heat. She'd tried everything to combat them, and it was always funny to watch his mother combing something new into her hair to try to 'tame the mane'.

He had the prettiest mother out of everyone at school. Everything was just so, and even when she was dressed down, she was dressed sharply, perfectly.

She wasn't just pretty -- she was brilliant and smart, and a smart-mouth. And she cooked and sang and played the violin, and still danced with his father. Sometimes he'd catch them like that, laughing in the living room and ballroom dancing when he was procrastinating on his homework or thinking of sneaking out. 

His parents were probably the most loving set of parents he'd ever seen, even at his friend's houses. Everyone was rich at the school, but money didn't buy happiness and he'd been party to some really nasty knock down drag out fights between some of his friend's parents while he was kicking back there, listening to music and trying hard to be cool.

Not that his parents didn't fight. They did, but it never lasted long and he was honestly sure that his mother usually won.

He had the best mom, but he wished that his father hadn't spent all of the previous night relaying stories to him about how he'd picked her and his Choosing day, and yada yada yada. No guy wanted to spend his sixteenth birthday listening to his dad talk, and give him all of these rules and stuff. There was a beautiful car in the driveway, a Porsche 951, which was just waiting for him to take out on the road. And while he knew that choosing a Companion was a life changing experience, blah blah, that car was in the driveway.

Waiting.

While his father had talked to him about making sure that their teeth met when they closed their mouths, no jaw issues, and how he had to think about if he'd be all right with the long-term implications of having a deaf or a blind Companion. His aunt was blind, but she was no less amazing than his own mom, and his uncle Fred had done things around his house to make life easier for her. Her clothes were all coordinated by shape-tags, and that was kind of neat. His dad stressed that choosing a Companion with flaws wasn't a bad idea, just one that required creativity.

Now that he was on a small tour-bus packed with mostly other sixteen year olds -- but a few older men, because his father had also stressed that he shouldn't just pick one to pick one, and it was better to wait until the Choosing in the fall than to be less than perfectly sure -- it was easier to give his father's words a little more thought.

It wasn't like he hadn't had sixteen years worth of knowledge that he would be one of the select few to be given the opportunity to pick a Companion. He'd had to attend compulsory classes for those with that all-important 'B' symbol stamped on their birth certificates. He'd sat through the lectures on the rewards and responsibilities of being a Benefactor and in his own mind it boiled down to several key points. He got to choose a Companion, both a privilege and a responsibility, he got social status and certain opportunities, he got to compulsorily 'serve his country' for a minimum of four years and attend certain ceremonies that were frankly rather boring.

It all kind of balanced out. Sort of. He guessed. Everyone else at school was talking about college and Jim was looking at the military. His father was a career officer, though, so it wasn't a stretch. He understood it; he knew how the lifestyle went. It wasn't something he could do for years and years, but he could do it for four. He knew why his father loved it -- he was a technician, not a shooter or a battle commander. A niche like that...

Jim was supposed to be thinking about what he wanted to do. His father had told him he could pick a boy or a girl, that was up to him. But that he had to consider that whomever he picked would be with him for the rest of their lives.

Truth was he was open to both, he knew that much from school. And for all his laid back attitude and tendency to break the unwritten rules about mixing with non-B he was taking this seriously. There wasn't a choice about this. A Benefactor had to have a Companion. And when they Chose them they were pretty much kids, they basically mapped out their Companion's training, educations and skills so when they picked them up, the Companions were almost perfectly tailored mates.

Jim looked out the window as they traveled to the Companion center. It was a bit daunting having that sort of control offered to you. He wasn't exactly sure he was comfortable with it but his parents were perfect examples of how it could work. He had never doubted that they were in love.

He wanted that kind of love. Some day, when he was older, he wanted to be able to come home and have that to look forwards to, like something out of a storybook. That was what it reminded him of, storybook love. Even when they fought, it was never long or bad or something that didn't really need to be settled. His mother was ultimately patient with his father, steering and guiding him for all that he'd chosen how she'd been educated and brought up. It was kind of funny, and it made Jim wonder what else they were taught.

No one on the bus was really talking to each other, everyone else lost in their thoughts.

He guessed if he was really honest, he was hoping to look at these Companions and have some sort of... 'experience'. Something that said, 'Yes Jim, this is the right one'. He was more than a little worried about that because his attempts at young love so far had been singularly bad and each time he would have sworn it was the real thing. And how could he look at a kid, aged four or five and know?

It wasn't a lot of help with his dad saying that he had just known his mother was the one. Or maybe that was something they just said now, and more to the point he knew a few others where it was nothing like his parents' relationship. 

Sure, his family did all right with them. His dad and his uncle, and his grandparents, it all worked out. But that had a lot to do with them, Jim thought. The people involved. He figured his parents were kind of permissive, and his grandparents and his uncle, because Jim had a friend whose Companion mother was like a heeled dog and it was weird.

He'd once seen his grandmother smack the back of his grandpa's head in an argument, and he hadn't flipped out.

But sometimes he saw things on the news and they weren't always good things about Companions. He wasn't that into politics and social stuff but he didn't like the fact that there had been cases where Companions had died and it had not been murder. "Disposal of Property" just didn't sit right. But that happened with ordinary marriages, abuse and violence, things going wrong...

No, it couldn't be pinned on the existence of Companions. 

Half of him hoped he would look at this batch and he could just say, no, nothing there he wanted and he could go back to the Porsche. The Porsche was awesome, and he didn't have to think too hard about appreciating it. Candy Apple red, brilliantly polished... 

He wanted that car so badly, wanted to take it out on the road right now, right then, and instead, the bus was stopping. The doors opened, but a pretty petite woman stepped on, smiling at them all. She was pretty hot, long blonde hair and a skinny pretty black dress.

"Good morning, gentlemen. We all know why you're here, but I just want to go over a couple of new rules. No alcohol is allowed, and refreshments are soda, juice, and a few sweets. We had an incident in the fall, and there will not be another incident this year."

Jim found himself looking down. He'd heard about that. Someone taking the Choosing opportunity to be more than familiar with the candidates. For God's sake, they were only four or 5. It seemed incredible, but he knew it happened. It was that sort of thing that made him think about going into Law enforcement after his Benefactor service. His dad wasn't sure if that the right way to go -- Benefactors usually became lawyers, judges -- that sort of thing if they went into law enforcement -- but Jim knew his father wasn't that concerned. He'd been a career officer and he would respect that in another branch of service. Besides, it had decent prospects.

Work was work, and as long as he enjoyed it, he was pretty sure his father wouldn't care.

The woman at the front surveyed them for one last minute, and then nodded. "Welcome, gentlemen, to the Controlled Companion Choice Camp." She turned smoothly, and the men at the front seats started to stand up to file off the bus. Jim could lean to look at the window, to see the red carpet that led up the steps to a building that looked like it was an auditorium.

He got up with the rest of them wondering if some of his friends from school were doing this in other CCCCs. It did make them seem like dignitaries, the red carpet treatment. He caught himself smiling a bit and toned it down. No, he was cool and calm about this. It was just a necessary rite of passage like the Benefactor Acceptance when he'd been seven and he was formally acknowledged. All he remembered from that was he'd had to wear a suit and it had itched like crazy, and his parents had spent all the time taking photographs of him. Thank God, this was one rite of passage he did alone. Well, alone with a busload of other people.

But his mom wasn't there with a camera insisting he smile wider, brighter, something, oh, god, Jimmy, don't do that with your hair. That lack of embarrassment factor made it easier when it was his turn to stand up and join the silent, almost dignified-seeming line off of the bus. They were heading right up the stairs and the carpet, and while most of the men looked right ahead, probably thinking, Jim peered around a little. 

There weren't many CCCCs, and even though he had friends who were probably choosing on the same day, they liked to mix people around and send them to go to different ones. It was so no one Camp got a choicer selection or something. Jim wasn't sure, but his mom had come from one in Florida, which was weird with them all being up north. 

Part of the experience. 

The grounds around the auditorium were a little less formal and over-polished. He could see a playground and a two-story building that was across from it, and lots of benches and trees, places where the snow had been tramped down to bare dirt because people had been playing there.

Jim could only imagine what a pain in the ass it had been to clean the steps perfectly enough to lay a carpet like that down on them.

In some ways that made him feel better. If he had to have a Companion, which he did, then he wouldn't want one so precise that they couldn't think outside the norm a little. The thought of one so precisely conforming to everything was just... wrong. Like his mom challenged his dad, he wanted that. Someone who could do something more than just what he asked. How boring would that be?

They were being ushered inside and he hoped they were going to be told how things were meant to go. His dad said some of the Centers did things a little differently. When he'd Chosen his mother, they had all been allowed to socialize at once and sort of gravitated to each other. Some places arranged so the children could be seen one by one.

Jim was actually feeling nervous about it, for all his attitude about it that morning. They piled up in the lobby, and the woman stood at the front in front of the closed lobby doors, waiting until they were all in. "Now, after the children introduce themselves, you're free to mill around, sit down, talk with them. No arguing and we expect you all to be on your best behavior. We have two deaf Companions this year, and one blind Companion, and I ask you to be aware of this and respectful towards them." 

She pivoted smoothly, and placed her hands on the handles, backing up to pull them open. "Welcome to your future."

There was a moment of them crowding forwards, before they seemed to understand that there was no need to rush. There was a line of children waiting, dressed up, each standing by a chair. Mostly girls, but there were a few boys. The girls had perfectly arranged hair, some with pins and ribbons and bows, pretty dresses on, and the boys were all wearing suits, some black, some gray, all with little bow ties.

It was then the strangeness of what he was doing really struck Jim. Here he was just legally an adult going to pick a child to be a lifetime Companion for him. Maybe one of these children. He wondered almost instinctively which ones were deaf and which was blind, but almost immediately discarded the thought. That wasn't necessarily an indicator of compatibility. He looked around to see what everyone else was doing before he stepped forward.

The worst part was that most of the kids looked scared, or they were fidgeting. One girl was rocking on her heels, hands clutching the back of the chair she was standing behind instead of beside. The woman running the show gestured to each child, and they said their names, but Jim kind of missed what they were and missed most of that because he was looking at them.

There was no way that one of them, just a little kid, was going to be his Companion. One boy was chewing on his jacket sleeve. His dad was going to be disappointed, but he'd get over it. But he had said he'd give it a shot and he always did what he promised so he could at least say, yeah he was sure there wasn't one there for him.

He looked over them carefully, seeing his fellow Benefactors homing in on the prettiest of the girls, clustering around them. That was predictable. And this was just ridiculous.

They were kids. And it was weird to see the other Benefactors start moving around, mostly heading for the girls, the pretty ones with big eyes and long hair, blond or black hair before they went near the brunettes. And the rest of the kids were just watching, watching those select few that were the belles of the ball. Standing by their chairs and waiting. That had to be sad, didn't it?

Jim almost didn't notice the woman who was supervising when she came up beside him, except that she touched his elbow. "Mr. Brass. You don't seem to be looking."

"Oh I'm looking," Jim said immediately. "I'm just, uh... not sure where to begin." Or if he even wanted to -- everything had seemed fine in theory, but faced with the reality, things were different.

"Do you know what gender you prefer? I can help you. I know these Companions fairly well and can steer you in the right direction, if you'd like." And hey, it was probably easier to deal with one guy who looked lost than the Benefactors who were showering the couple of stunning girls with attention.

"I like either," Jim replied and thought it was a good thing he was sure about that at least. "I guess... I guess the problem is I can't really see how I can Choose based on them being so young, y'know?" He might as well be honest about it even if everyone else managed to do it without complaining.

“Through the process, they're trained to suit your needs and wants. All you can be sure of now is the basic personality traits. There are some Companions here who are sweet, some who are happy, some who are willful, and some who are a little hard to fathom. If gender doesn't matter to you, then might I suggest you consider what kind of person you would prefer?"

Like it was as easy as picking a year of wine. 

Problem was he wasn't really sure sixteen year olds, including himself, knew what they wanted. "Kind of person? Someone with a sense of individuality. Intelligent, quirky sense of humor," Jim paused, thinking hard about what initially attracted him to people even if things didn't play out. "...sense of fairness, I guess, and caring."

"Oh, well. It wouldn't be either of those two," she said with a smile, gesturing to the two who were being crowded around the most. "They're actually rather spoiled. Five year olds can be quite manipulative, do you know that? I think... you should meet Gilbert." She looked around, towards the chair where the boy who'd been chewing on his coat sleeve had been standing, but he wasn't there.

"Oh, uhm... Why don't you follow me? I think he's wandered off. He tends to do that." And he didn't seem to be with any of the people who were standing there or crouched down talking to Companions, or following anyone to the tables and chairs to sit down. "He's a little hard of hearing -- he was actually sent from our Camp from California after his first showing in the fall of last year. He was involved in one of the 'incidents' -- but he's very bright. Just a little... troublesome." 

"Troublesome?" Jim asked. Poor kid. If that had happened to him, he wouldn't just wander off if he was put in that situation again, he'd sneak out and hide somewhere until it was all over. Jim looked around, seeing what appeared to be a cloakroom off to the right. Easy to get to, out of sight. He'd look there in a minute, see if the kid really was smart.

"Well, he doesn't always listen word for word. Or sign for sign. Sometimes he prefers one to the other, and, well." She smiled again, and looked over to the refreshments. "Uhm, stay around here, I'm going to see if he's under a table."

Jim watched her go and then headed off to the cloakroom. He figured he could say he was looking for a toilet if he was wrong. As he did so, he tried to remember the limited sign they had been taught in their Benefactor classes. It was usually enough for the niceties because a lot of the Companions that moved in the same circles as they would as Benefactors were deaf. Hopefully it would be enough to communicate with a four or five year old. He pushed open the door, looking in carefully. 

Sometimes, it was good to be right.

There was Gilbert, sitting cross-legged on the floor, a napkin spread out on front of him, with a few cookies in the center and a blue plastic cup full of what looked like coke. He'd even turned the light on in the room, but now that Jim was there, he stared up at him, blinking owlishly.

It made Jim grin a little. "Hi... uh..." He belatedly remembered to try his rusty signing at the same time. "Hi, you must be Gilbert right?" It took him a little while to work that out in sign but it was coming back to him. "Sorry, I'm not very good at signing; I hope I'm not saying anything stupid."

The kid broke out into a grin, and signed for him to sit down. "Hi." His voice sounded pretty normal, a little rough, but not strange toned like Jim was expecting. "I'm Gil. I got my own drink this time. Who're you?"

"Jim," he said and sat down, mimicking the cross-legged posture. He grinned back. "I'm meant to be out there, too, but..." He shrugged. "Everyone was fussing over a couple of the girls and I wasn't that interested."

"They're pretty." He picked up a cookie, and watched Jim for a minute before he held it up as an offering. Maybe it was a peace offering. "Ashley said someone was gonna choose her. They will, too. I'm not pretty. My chin has a dent in it."

Jim took the cookie. "It does? Thanks," he said while he ate a bite. "Not bad. Besides, pretty is just a matter of opinion right?"

“Miss Anne says so." He was watching Jim eat that cookie intently, and it was funny how he only started to eat his after Jim had chewed on his own. Okay, so the kid was using him as a poison tester for food. That was pretty creative. "Are you gonna choose one of them?" he asked after he'd swallowed.

"Dunno. What do you think?" Jim asked a little amused by the boy. "Should I?"

"No~o." He made a sign with that, and reached for his coke, which he diligently offered to Jim first. "Choose me. I want to go home with somebody."

Jim sipped the coke and passed it back. "I think it's okay," he said. "Choose you huh? Why should I choose you?" He didn't say it harshly but as a genuine question, and it started him thinking.

"Uhm..." Gil hummed a little, and took his drink back, taking a big sip. "I don't know. I knew last time. I had a list. But it didn't work and my head hurt and people kept putting me on their laps and I didn't like it. It was a stupid list."

"Yeah?" Jim said taking that in. He'd never had to worry about that sort of thing. "What sort of things do you like?"

"Bugs." He gave a big grin then. "I like being outside. I dug a big hole yesterday and found a beetle burrow. An' there was a bunny in it, so maybe it was a bunny burrow, or maybe the bunny from the yard got out and made a new home. But there were beetles in the bedding, so I gave the bunny big bunches of grass to sleep in. And then it ate it."

Gil put his drink down when he answered, and when he talked it was with big gestures and signs.

"They have a tendency to do that sorta thing," Jim replied agreeing. "What sort of thing would you like to do when you get older? As well as being a Companion?"

"I don't know? I want to..." He went quiet for a moment, and his eyebrows drew together. Gil had bright blue eyes, and curly brown hair that looked like someone had tried to hard to brush it straight and it had defied them anyway.

He didn't have a chance to answer when the cloakroom door creaked open. "Gilbert, there you are. And Mr. Brass."

Jim looked around. "Oh hey, Gil and I were just having a talk," he said easily enough. "Then we were going to come out and find you."

"Mmhm." She was peering at him suspiciously for a moment, but it didn't last long once she saw the little picnic that Gil had set out for himself. "Why don't the two of you come out here and sit down at a table?"

"Whaddya think, Gil? Want to talk some more with me?" Jim said. He leaned forward. "I think she's worried I might do something to you if we're on our own. But I wouldn't."

It was hard to guess what was going through Gil's mind, and maybe he was one of the ones that she meant was unfathomable. Gil looked at her, and then looked at Jim, and then he started to fold the napkin around his cookies so he could pick them up and take them with him. "Okay. I like you."

That was important. He wasn't sure why, but that made a difference to him somehow. He actually believed Gil meant that rather than it being some phrase pulled out to impress a potential Benefactor.

He smiled a little. "C'mon then, we can go talk some more. You can tell me more about bugs and things."

"Okay!" That got enthusiasm out of him, and he got to his feet as carefully as he could, clearly trying not to spill coke on his suit. "We've got ladybugs in the attic of the dorm, and they're sleepin'..."

Jim smiled as Gil rattled on as they walked out. Somewhere he ended up carrying the coke, and holding Gil by the hand. He glanced around at everyone outside, suddenly finding that mentally he was comparing them to the boy by his side. Which was strange.

They sat down at one of the dining tables and Gil was still going. And Jim was trying to do what his dad had told him. Listen beneath the words; see what sort of character was underneath.

That was the important part in the long run

Gil seemed excitable, smart, and he grinned a lot. If Jim progressed that a few years forward, that could all imply great things. And he seemed a little desperate for attention, because he was kind of physically plain compared to a lot of the kids. He watched Jim's mouth when he talked, so he was probably harder of hearing than he seemed.

But Jim had to admit he wasn't ever going to be the most handsome guy compared to some, and he was finding it surprisingly easy to talk to this kid. They talked about bugs, they talked about cars, they talked a little about what Jim thought he was going to do because Jim didn't want to force anyone into anything. They talked about the sort of things he liked to eat and drink, about games, about the other potential Companions there.

"Have you ever wanted to be Chosen by someone before?" Jim asked half expecting some sort of a lie. They did probably train the kids to say the right things.

"Yes. And no." That was kind of ambiguous, and Jim wasn't sure if they exactly trained that into kids. "I want to be chosen? Because if I'm not then nobody wants me ever. But I didn't want to go home with anyone last time, they were creepy. Not bug creepy, just..." Gil gave an exaggerated shiver.

"They shouldn't have done that to you," Jim said seriously and believing it totally, with all the sudden fire that a teenager could muster.

"They were worried no one would want me because of it?" He kept making things questions, and Jim wasn't sure if that was because it was the way he talked or because he couldn't quite hear himself. He'd tried to sit them over to a table off to the side, but there was still noise around them. "No one's supposed to do anything until I'm as big as you are. And I'm..." He leaned forwards in the chair, holding his hand out. "See? Smaller. Everything's little. But I can stick my hand into holes in the dirt and look for things, so it's okay."

"Stick your hand into holes in the dirt?" Jim asked. "And find bugs and bunnies right?" Jim smiled a little, though he couldn't help feel a tug of concern for the kid. Being handled like that. Treated like that.

"Yeah!" Gil grinned again, and he kept talking, "Miss Anne says one day I'm gonna find a snake, and that'd be cool. That'd have to be harder to do when you get bigger. I'm not supposed to play as much as I do, but Miss Anne lets me because I get everything done fast. Math and reading and things. There's supposed to be even less playing when we get older. That's sad."

"That is pretty sad." Jim agreed, hoping there would be some way for there to be play for this kid. "So you're good at reading and lessons and stuff, right?"

"Yeah. I like reading. We've got encyclopedias full of pictures and everything. I'm still in the B book, but I'll probably finish it soon." That held the slightest hint of pride when he said it, like he knew that most children, non-Companion children, couldn't hardly read at all.

"That's pretty impressive Gil," Jim said and hesitated. "You haven't been signing too much. Is your hearing not that bad then?"

"I can hear." It was almost a protest, and he sat back a little. "And you're not moving. I can see your lips."

"You do it really well," Jim complimented him. "In fact, it sounds like you do a lot really well." He smiled again. "Better than I did when I was going to school."

"What did you do?"

"Me? I go to one of the Benefactor schools. Only I've got a habit of not always mixing with the right kind. I'd sneak out and play basketball with some friends, or we'd get a ride out to parties. I've always been a bit better with working things out and doing things." Jim said. He shrugged a little. "Soon I'll be doing Benefactor Duty in the Army. You know what that is right?"

"Armies protect the country." Gil paused, and then frowned a little. "I don't know what Benefactor Duty is."

"Well you know how Benefactors are the only ones that get to Choose Companions?" Jim explained softly. "One of the things they have to do in return is defend the country for at least four years. So if there's a war, then I'll go there. I'll be a soldier and they'll give me training as well towards my degree and then I'll be released to do what I want... and to have a Companion. It's like... payment."

"Oh." Oh, and Gil tilted his head a little. "But army people die."

"Yeah." Jim sometimes let himself think about that, sometimes didn't. It was just something they were expected to do whether they wanted it or not. In fact, the thought of not doing the Duty was almost impossible though he had heard of people who got out of it on medical, or got cushy positions stateside away from action. "But, I like not being dead so I was thinking to avoid it, you know? And then maybe look at becoming a detective. To stop bad things happening."

There seemed to be two Gil smiles: full teeth like he was going to start laughing, and a softer, more thoughtful one. When Jim said that, his face shifted towards the softer smile, and he peered at Jim's face. "Like.... like what happened to me?"

"Yeah. Especially that sort of thing," Jim said and was surprised to realize that he actually meant that. It was if a lot of half formed ambitions and thoughts had snapped into abrupt focus. "Not just helping people, but stopping bad things from happening." That was what he wanted. Hell of a time to realize that, talking to a kid.

"That's neat." It was just that simple to a five-year-old, but Gil gave that soft smile again. "That'd be neat to do. Could I do that, too?"

"Maybe," Jim replied with a smile and reaching across and ruffling the boy's hair a little. "Maybe."

If I Choose you, he added to himself and it seemed strange, but he just didn't seem to have any room in his head to think about anyone else apart from this one child. He looked again at the others there, and knew he should be talking with them, and comparing and seeing if there was someone else he might Choose.

"I should be letting other people talk to you, Gil." But he didn't want to. Was this how it felt? What had happened to his dad?

He halfway hoped it was, because Gil shook his head at Jim. "I don't want to. I don't want to be somebody's second Choice. I like you."

God help him, he liked this kid right back. There were already random stray thoughts wondering, planning what he could do, what might be best...

"Gil, you wouldn't be anyone's second Choice."

There was a moment while Gil eyed him with understandable suspicion, before he said, "No?"

Jim smiled and reached for his hand. "Well you're my first Choice and I think I'm a pretty good judge of character."

And there it was, and it did feel right, and strangely worrying and exciting all at the same time. He'd said it and it was a promise and he always kept his promises.

He just hadn't expected for Gil to make a noise that had sounded kinda happy and fling himself from his chair to try to hug Jim.

Jim found himself hugging him back and it was somehow just right. Gil wanted him, he wanted Gil and that was how the system worked and everything would work out just right. "Yeah. You and me, kid. You and me."

* * *

He arrived home with a file full of documents and pictures but the preliminary Choice had been signed and sealed. Jim just felt something right about it and yeah, maybe Choosing a boy wasn't what his parents had in mind but they could get a surrogate heir if necessary. That was part of it. And he could still marry technically and have a Companion. At this point in time, that had faded into the background. He was still smiling to himself because when they had gone to leave, somehow -- and no one knew how -- Gil had managed to sneak out of the children's area and was hiding behind his coat, wanting to go home with him. He'd lifted his coat up and there had been a pair of wide blue eyes looking at him and arms that wrapped around him so he had had to pick him up and try to stop laughing a little.

The CCCC staff had apologized profusely for Gil being troublesome as if worried he would suddenly withdraw his Choice and he had laughed and told Gil he was impressed he'd worked out which was his coat and he would take him home, but he would be going on that Duty soon, and he couldn't come with him there.

He'd promised to write and send pictures and he wanted to hear all about Gil's exploits. Somewhere in there Gilbert had become Gil, even though the paperwork called him Gilbert. It was what he called himself, and it seemed to fit. He wasn't much of a Gilbert, but Gil... worked. 

Jim shouldn't have been surprised when his father appeared mere moments after he'd unlocked the door. "Your mother's playing mahjong over at the Benning's tonight." Old family friends of his dad's, Benefactors and Companions just like them, permissive and nice just like they were, so his dad never had problems with his mother being friends with Mrs. Benning. Mahjong nights were every couple of weeks, gossip and coffee and cakes and recipe swapping. Jim had been dragged to it a few times when he was little and it was an experience to be avoided. "So, how did it go?"

"I've Chosen," Jim said with a smile he just couldn't seem to shake. It had stayed there all the way through the trip home, through everything. It was somehow like today his life had come into focus and he like feeling this way. With an aim, a goal and knowing he had made the right decision.

“Congratulations!" His father even hugged him, a manly one-armed hug that involved back patting, but he was laughing and grinning, and then he pulled back, gesturing to the sofa. "Sit down and tell me about your Companion."

Well first hurdle to get over. "He's called Gil," Jim said by way of breaking the news. "And yeah, I know, you and Mom probably weren't anticipating that.

He was watching his father's face for something, and he wasn't exactly disappointed. His smile lost a little of its lightness, and then he nodded. "I see. Well, that's all right. As long as you're... aware that one day he's not going to be small and ambiguous anymore. Why don't you tell me about him?"

Jim nodded. "Dad, I went there and I was just hanging back. I kept thinking about all the stuff you told me, and everything felt weird you know? Like how on earth could I Choose a Companion if they were so young? They were just kids. So I was just watching and I just couldn't see anyone there that... well there was nothing like what you told me happened with you and Mom. So one of the assistants came over and asked me to basically start looking and when I explained she talked about this boy Gil who had disappeared from the group. And he'd been one of the ones molested in the incident a few months back, remember that? And I just knew where he would be."

He paused a moment. "I found him and we started talking and it was like... none of the others even interested me any more. I mean, he's not the best looking of them there, and he has a hearing problem... but..."

It was strange to see a little of the light return to his smile. "Ah. But, it didn't matter. Well, if you want children, you can get a surrogate, so that's not a problem. That was what I was hoping you'd say, Jim. Have you looked over his files yet? Have you thought about how you want him to be schooled?" It was kind of nice that his father was plowing on. He knew some of his friend's parents would freak out if they picked someone that had... had that happen to them. Used goods, touched by someone other than them, because Companions were supposed to be just their Benefactor's.

But not his father, and his mother would probably hug him when she got back.

"He's bright. Really bright I think. I think it would be pretty criminal to limit him to one specific thing. I'll probably give more broad directions for him," Jim said, still staring at the piece of paper in front of him that had a conclusion he was wrestling with a fair amount of teenage angst involved. "I'm just looking at the files now. At the report about his hearing."

It looked pretty bad. Gil's mother had been a Companion who'd gone completely deaf at age eight, and it hadn't ever been corrected. He was the illegitimate son through another Benefactor that wasn't his mother's Benefactor -- something that made Jim want to wince a little, but there were no names named -- but he'd inherited his mother's genetic condition. It was kind of over Jim's head, but it looked like there was excess bone growth or calcium or something that eventually hosed up the works. 

It was fixable, though, once he got older and wasn't growing much. Once he was eleven or so, and it was right there on the sheet. Recommendation for surgery, to the amount of... a hell of a lot of money. Jim couldn't figure out how he'd have that much money in four or five years, not unless he started to save now. And that was just the start, because school cost money and Gil needed to be fed and dressed and... 

It was a hell of a lot of responsibility.

"What's it say?"

"It says it's fixable. If I pay. Or he'll go completely deaf," Jim said looking up at him. There was one option. The Benefactor levy was taken from his wages when he started the Duty, but this was something else and he didn't have that in savings. But if he gave up one thing and invested the money, he could have. "I'm just thinking whether I can do it."

His father shifted closer, leaning so he could read the paper. "Where there's a will, there's a way. Some Benefactors prefer their Companions deaf." But that was isolation, and Gil talked. He talked and he talked and he gestured, and Jim wasn't sure if he could take that from him so easily. Legally he could, just by not making a decision, but that didn't mean it was... right.

He sighed a little. "The Porsche is mine right Dad? You think I would get enough from selling it to cover this?" He tapped the underlined figure that was the estimated cost of surgery.

The beautiful red Porsche that he'd ached to drive. That he'd planned to show off to his friends. Damn.

His friends would coo over the car, and probably freak that he'd chosen a boy for his Companion, no matter what or who they'd chosen. Dammit, he was going to lose his cool factor over it. His father was watching him. "It's new, Jim. And it's yours. If you sold it, you could cover the surgery and afford to get yourself a decent used car so you can still drive..." Decent used car meant a junker, but maybe his father would pull strings, it didn't matter.

Jim nodded slowly. His friends would never believe that he was going to give up the Porsche, but a Porsche would be out of date -- hell, he wouldn't get long before he was on the Duty, then who knew if he'd get to drive it for four years? Whereas it was a lifetime gift to Gil.

"I've gotta sell it, Dad. It's one thing if it wasn't curable deafness, but this is something I can do something about." Jim made the decision, getting better and better at the process. It was the right decision.

"I'm very proud of you today, Jim." Words were just words, but he could hear it in the timbre of his father's voice. "You're a good kid. Man. Young man, god, where's the time gone? Making responsible decisions without me having to prod you." He leaned past Jim a little and flipped through the papers, reaching for the picture that had been taken of Gil with Jim just before the ceremony had ended. That had been part of it, a little token to remind the Benefactor and the Companion. "This is him, right? He looks happy."

"Yeah. Yeah he wanted to come home with me," Jim smiled looking at the picture. He had a wallet sized one as well, and he was going to carry it with him. "He snuck out and I found him hiding in my coat. He'd worked out which one it was and gotten out. It just seemed compared to him... everyone else was just..." It was difficult to explain. "Anyway, I decide that after I've done my Duty, I think I'd like to get my degree and try and become a detective. Things just... fell into place a bit for me today."

"That's good. The police do good work, son, and it's an admirable job. Prosecuting lawyers also do good work..." His father wheedled that a little, but he was smiling in a way that told Jim it was all right. It was a good choice. "So he tried to sneak home with you, huh? Your mother stole my wrist watch."

"She did?" Jim smiled a bit at that. "Dad, it was just like you described it. I'm not even sure how it happened, but I was suddenly and completely sure I was making the right decision. To be honest, I thought I was going in there looking for a girl. Like you and Mom."

"That's all right, that you didn't pick a girl. If your interests go both ways, what's important is the Companionship. And you can always marry if you want to. That option isn't closed to you. I'd prefer that you chose a boy who felt right than a girl you didn't really care about." It was a convoluted way to explain it, but it worked. It was right, a lot of those girls were pretty but they didn't.... do anything for Jim, in his mind, and they were all too young to do anything in his body. He was pretty sure that when Gil grew up, he'd do something for his body, and it already felt right as a mind thing. Person-to-person.

That cleft chin was pretty cute. Even if Gil thought it was a dent.

“Thanks, Dad. It's a pretty big deal. I feel like I've become a big brother all of a sudden, and I'm responsible for him. And a lot of my friends don't have anything like that to deal with." Jim looked at him. "Was it like that for you?"

"Yes." His father looked slightly nostalgic. "It comes on you all of a sudden that you suddenly... have someone who's wholly dependent on you. And that if you skip your Benefactor duty there won't be enough money to feed them and let them have the best, and you want them to have the very best. It's a lot, but I think it's very important that it happens. You're learning responsibility a lot sooner than your non-Benefactor friends."

"Yeah I guess. It's gonna be weird." Jim looked at the photo again. "I think he'll be worth it, though. I want him to have the best. I want him to do things he's interested in. He likes bugs a lot." He grinned as he remembered Gil's enthusiasm.

He wanted him to stay that way, even though he couldn't figure out how he'd maintained it after what had happened. Miss Anne had said the files on that were in the folder, but he hadn't gotten there yet. He wasn't sure he wanted to, because it wasn't going to change his mind and he couldn't do anything about it but get pissed off for Gil.

All Gil wanted to do was play outside and read. He hadn't done anything to invite what had happened. Some Benefactors were scum, even if everyone there in his group, that day at that CCCC were all good and well behaved. "Bugs, huh? Maybe science."

"There's science in law enforcement. Maybe he can skew his studies a bit that way," Jim replied. "It would be good if he understood something about what I'm intending to do. How did you choose for Mom?"

“I had her taught a little of everything and she eventually started to pick out things she liked. It was mostly because I had no idea, and... We didn't exactly encourage female Companions to work back then. Male ones, always. Always."

"Maybe I'll do that. I want him to have a little fun as well. He deserves it after what happened," Jim looked at his father. "I don't want to screw this up, Dad. I think I've got a shot at what you have and that's a high standard to live up to."

His father seemed proud of that. "Good. As long as you remember that he's yours, it should be easy. He'll love you unconditionally, all you have to do is give him the chance and treat him the way he deserves." His father patted him on the back again. "I'll let you read over that in peace," he said while he stood up from the sofa. "But if you have any questions, I'm always going to be here to listen to you. You're not going this alone."

And that was reassuring, because all these decisions aside, he was feeling a little overwhelmed and it wouldn't be that long before he could be shipped off to war. Alternatively, he could spend his Duty stateside somewhere doing war games and climbing rank. At sixteen, either prospect was more than a little scary. "Thanks, Dad. I appreciate that."

And somewhere he had become a son who could talk to his father without feeling embarrassed. And his Dad was proud of him and his Choice. As birthday presents went, that beat a car that would be traded in eventually. He couldn't trade in the memory of this day for anything.

* * *

As far as birthdays went, Gil had had better. 

He usually liked his birthday. There was usually a long card and letter, or even a phone call from his Benefactor and a gift and it was just a very quietly enjoyable day. Sometimes he was allowed to go out, supervised, to someplace he wanted to go instead of on the mass field trips that they'd done when they were little. He could drive now, but just to his internship and back, and it wasn't the same. If he wanted to, he could drive off, theoretically. Sometimes he thought about it, and sometimes he thought about taking one of his letters and driving to his Benefactor's address. 

But he followed the rules, mostly because he knew no amount of rule bending would make him happier. 

Birthdays had at one point marked that he was one year closer to Going Home. And then he'd turned sixteen and Jim hadn't come for him. And then he'd turned seventeen and Jim hadn't come for him. And then he'd turned eighteen, and Jim still hadn't come. And his card came late. And then he'd turned nineteen, and there was no Jim and a card, and Gil didn't care much anymore. Or he tried to pretend he didn't care because he wanted to Go Home. 

It hurt worse every year, and it while he could logically understand that he was being given a top level education, and everything else the rest of the year, but now he was twenty-one and there wasn't going to be another year. No card or gift, but maybe it was late. Gil wasn't sure, and he could content himself with organizing the box of correspondence he kept under his bed. He didn't feel like asking to go anywhere special that day, and he didn't want to go down to the commons to socialize. 

He was the oldest one there, and at one time that had been a good thing, and now it was a mark of obscure shame. He'd helped with some of the younger Companions, he'd even taught a little in the subjects he had excelled at. He'd done unusual things and had Companion equivalencies to a Doctorate and practical experience that rarely got organized but now...

Now he was twenty-one and he still hadn't Gone Home. He picked up an old letter, looking at it, remembering the joy he'd had whenever one of Jim's letters came. They started off so bright and he was sure he wasn't imagining that Jim wanted him as much as he wanted to go home with him.

He picked up one of his favorites where Jim had told him to be brave for his operations because it was just ... right.

'It will be painful Gil, and I'm sorry about that but hopefully you'll be able to hear more than you ever have before. It's not that I thought there was anything wrong with you the way you were, but this was a gift I could give to you. However you are is just perfect, but with this you can have new experiences and enjoy things maybe you've missed before...'

The paper was worn, but it was one of his favorites, even with the old creases and faded ink. It was from back when he was sure that Jim loved him, back when letters from him had been full of tiny tones and things that Gil had fed off of. Little subtleties that he'd been trained to pick up on, things that hadn't been there in... 

A long time. And that was why he hadn't ever asked Jim why he hadn't picked him up yet. Maybe Gil was a little afraid of the answer.

There were times where he just lay awake wondering what if, what if? What if he had changed his mind? What if he didn't like him anymore? Jim had gotten married and that had worried him a lot, because sometimes the wife wasn't happy unless she had her own Companion. For a while he had said, yeah, it was that. But then things had gone wrong and he had been sure that Jim would come for him then, completely sure. But he hadn't. He hadn't come then and nearly two years had gone past and he still hadn't come.

But he would read the letters and wonder because he wasn't sure if there was a difference or not. His last letter had been that he was leaving New Jersey. Where he lived. His last 'real' letter at least. One where he talked to him rather than just sent presents and wishes at Christmas or birthday.

He rifled to that one, scanning it. '...There's nothing in Jersey for me any more Gil, I have to leave and start somewhere new. I know you'll be disappointed because I talked about all the things I'd show you here and people you'd meet but I've had to do a few things and they've changed everything. They've changed me...'

That was what he was worried about.

Because things did happen and change people, and Gil wished he knew what it was, wished he could do something. He still sent Jim letters, still talked about his internship and hoped he was doing well, but he didn't get answers anymore. Just those sometimes cards and it made Gil tempted to drive out there to see what had changed.

If there was nothing in Jersey for Jim anymore, then he wasn't married and Ellie... maybe wasn't his. It jumped too-quickly to Gil's mind, but that was part of his own schema for seeing the world, and he knew it. Maybe something else had happened. Jim hadn't ever explained.

And now he was twenty-one. It meant that Jim had to come for him, but it didn't mean that Jim would want to come for him.

A rejected Companion was one of the most tragic things in the world. Different not to being Chosen. Not being Chosen could just mean your Benefactor just hadn't met you, seen you. Sad, but understandable. To be Chosen and rejected was worse. It was... failure.

He was smart; he'd done everything he could that would make Jim proud. Maybe he had done too much? Maybe... maybe it had all been lies and he hadn't been enough for him.

That was a wrong thing to think. Lady Heather would not be happy with him, but then she hadn't looked happy whenever she'd looked at him over the past week. He was trained to notice things like that even from the Lady. She'd looked almost angry.

And he didn't know what to do. Whether she was angry at him or not was hard to tell, except that she was usually quick to discipline when out of line crossed to unacceptably out of line. So that made Gil want to lean towards thinking it wasn't his doing, but he couldn't be sure.

He hated not being sure.

And he hated sitting there wondering what else he could possibly do to make the situation better. But he was supposed to have been out of there already, and the Companion College hadn't had a Companion there as long as him in years. The last one had been five years before him, and Lady Heather hadn't told him what had happened to her.

But silence told a clear story by itself.

There was a gentle knock at the door, and it pushed open. Lady Heather was one of the few that could open any door at any time and she had tested that prerogative in the trying teenage years when Companions might be tempted to fraternize. Never knowing when she might walk in day or night put a crimp in a lot of furtive plans.

"Gil?"

He didn't startle much, and started to fold up the paper he'd been looking at. "Lady Heather. Do you need help with anything?" That was usually why she came to his room, to see if he was busy or would mind lending her a hand with some of the younger attendees to the college.

"I have need of this room, Gil," she said softly. "This place here. I wish you to pack your things as soon as you can."

"Oh." Well, that made sense. He got to his feet, and started to look around. It wouldn't take too long, but he hadn't really... expected that. It wasn't the same as being told that he was Going Home, and that was what he'd hoped she'd say. "All right. I can... I can be packed up very soon."

"You should also dress in your Presentation outfit," Lady Heather said with a smile. "It is a little last minute, but we will be joining the Presentation ceremony tonight after all."

What...?

"Is he coming to pick me up, or is this just so I don't end up dead in a ditch?" He was waffling between smiling and frowning, trying to shove down the knot in the back of his throat. Did they just want him to have an ID before they kicked him off the premises?

"He's coming to pick you up. I have spoken to him personally and confirmed this. He wasn't sure if he could get the time off of work but then I spoke directly to the Sheriff in Las Vegas and he ensured he would be available," Lady Heather said. "It's really happening, Gil. You are Going Home."

He was Going Home.

He'd wanted to Go Home since he was little, since Jim chose him. He'd wanted to go home with him right then and there and damn the schooling and everything else. He'd wanted to feel safe and loved and everything else that Companions were supposed to feel that he hadn't been too sure of. And then Jim had Chosen him and he...

And Gil had held out hope for so long, and now, after all of that anticipation, he didn't know what to do. He didn't know whether he wanted to sit down or stay standing, and Lady Heather was just looking at him. "Am I going to get to meet him before it happens...?" Usually Benefactors had their Companions for a week or so before the Presentation, and they took them home to be Presented, but with time the way it was... Jim probably didn't have that leeway.

"You will Go Home with him from this Presentation, and then attend your own Presentation in Vegas in a week's time," Lady Heather said gently. "He has come here to take you Home.”

Jim was going to do it right. That was... Gil wasn't sure, but it was strangely a little heartening. That some tradition was being stuck to, and Gil knew how Presentations went. So when she'd said his Presentation clothes she'd meant the clothes he'd wear to attend one, not to be in one. That was easy to pick out, even if he couldn't get himself to move.

"I..."

Lady Heather came and sat down next to him. "Gil, I know that this must be strange for you. I know the doubts you've had, your fears. But I want you to know that I have spoken to Jim Brass and I know that he is a good man. Underneath it all. He's having difficulties, but I want you to remember that he's still the person who Chose you the moment he met you, underneath it all. You might have to remind him of that. But you are a very very capable Companion, and right now, you are most definitely what he needs most in the world, even if he doesn't realize it, understand?"

That didn't sound good. It didn't sound encouraging, but Gil still turned towards Lady Heather so it was easier to look at her. Reading lips was a habit he hadn't been able to kick, and it kept him listening which was important. "I don't even know what to do anymore. I, I don't even know him anymore, I don't know what to do for him."

"You do what a Companion does. You love him, you serve him and you provide for his needs as well as his desires," Lady Heather replied softly. "Gil, I haven't seen that much of him, only spoken to him briefly but I know that it's something to do with him, not you, which has caused this delay."

She would know. Lady Heather was the best of the best, they all knew that. "Exactly what that is... that's a mystery you must unravel. But, as we know, you are at your best unraveling mysteries."

Gil almost wanted to laugh a little, but he dropped his eyes for a moment. He needed to try to keep that in mind, and hope that it wasn't him, because he didn't know what else he could do. If it was something wrong or going on with Jim, then... Then he could help. Had to help. It was the least he could do. "Did you notify the county? I was helping on a case..."

"It is all taken care of. They've written you a glowing reference for your file and they are very sorry to see you leave," Lady Heather said. "As will I be. Pleased for you on the one hand, but sad to lose a Companion who has done credit to the name and been an example to many of the young ones."

While Gil knew that intellectually, he wasn't sure what kind of example he set for the younger Companions. "I'm going to miss you..." But he'd wanted to go with Jim for years. And he couldn't be scared now.

Lady Heather smiled. "You will have your Benefactor and a new life. You'll be too busy to miss me." She patted him gently on the shoulder and stood. "You'd best get ready Gil."

"I'll pack first." He stood with her, and stepped back, trying to figure out where to start. "I... How much time do I have?" He'd need to get dressed, too, look his best. Cleaning up and packing and looking his best didn't go hand in hand.

"Four hours," Lady Heather replied. "Time enough, Gil." She paused in the doorway and looked back over her shoulder. "If you can't take it with you tonight, I'll have it sent on to you."

“All right. Thank you." There was too little time for him to freeze up and panic. He'd take clothes, a few books, his letters, and everything else could be sent. He'd... pack like he was going on a trip. A long field trip. 

Gil watched her turn and close the door, and then he turned to put the letters away and lift the box onto his bed. He had to shower and he needed to shave again, and style his hair and make sure that everything was shaved and he was groomed just... just perfectly. Until he was presented, there wasn't supposed to be any sex, but Lady Heather had told him years ago that it wasn't out of the ordinary to be looked at, touched, and everything short of the actual act. That was normal.

And even if Gil wasn't expecting normal, he wasn't going to let his own standards slip.

He would do what he had been trained, and over-trained to do. He'd be a Companion. And that meant being the best for them, for the one that had Chosen him. Jim had Chosen him and in doing so had given him a life that a lot of people would never get. Even some of those who had been waiting with him to be Chosen. He was the lucky one, someone had wanted him.

Had wanted him.

* * *

Jim didn't like wearing suits. He never had. He had a tendency to rumple even if he breathed in the wrong way. Even his army dress uniform had been a chore to keep crisp for the periods of time he needed to wear it in public.

But it was a Presentation. Not his Presentation, of his Companion but Lady Heather had deftly maneuvered him into a position where he had to attend. She'd even gone as far as booking his time off work which had astounded Catherine, who had never seen him put in for vacation, and was used to him working doubles and triples until he hit the overtime ceiling every month.

So here he was, a fair way from Vegas doing something he didn't want to do, being somewhere he didn't want to be and at the same time knowing it was a Duty that he had to perform or risk disappointing his family even more. 

He sighed and looked a little morosely into the rather weak wine they had offered him. A whiskey would have been better. Or something stronger.

Vodka maybe. He definitely didn't want to be there, but the guy was twenty-one, and Jim had been sternly informed that he wasn't allowed to stay at the California Higher Companion College any more. He had to be picked up. He might procrastinate to the utter limits but he couldn't abandon his Companion, no matter his reservations.

The doors on the other side of the room opened, and a stately woman, wearing a low-cut black dress, severely cut red-brown hair stepped in. She was a stunner, and she smiled at him, while she started to walk towards him. "Mr. Brass. I'm glad that you've finally made it."

Oh. He recognized that voice. "Lady Heather," he nodded, acknowledging the rebuke. It was nothing that he hadn't heard from his father. "I came as soon as circumstances allowed." Hey, he hadn't completely forgotten all his Benefactor manners after all.

"I'm sure that you did." She was eyeing him, sizing him up in the way he was pretty sure he sized up a suspect. "Gil was very excited to hear that you were coming."

"Well, I'm very excited to be finally taking him home," Jim said in a dry tone.

If nothing else it would stop the near constant barrage of pressure from his family, his family friends, the local Benefactors of Vegas who he didn't even know sending him messages to pick up his Companion. He knew he had to he just....

Well there had been reasons.

He had his reasons, even if no one was going to understand.

Lady Heather didn't seem to take kindly to his dry tones of voice, even as she sat calmly down across from him. "Mr. Brass. Gil has been an exemplary student while he's been at this college, and he attacks every task set before him with a fervor. If you allow him, he'll be a very mindful, loving Companion."

"If I allow him...?" Jim wasn't going to miss that sort of insinuation. He bristled unconsciously. The last thing he was going to do was abuse or mistreat Gil. He just... couldn't have a Companion. But that was what he was being forced to have.

"If you allow him to get close to you," she clarified. "He wants to, but the rest depends on your willingness to accept the young man you've helped form."

"Look, Lady Heather, you don't know much about me. It might be that Gil is better off not being anywhere near me, that ever occur to you?" he said a little sharply. "Or maybe I'm just too damn lazy to come out here and pick him up."

Jim found that most people were more likely to believe the second option. That was fine with him.

"I don't believe that. You Chose Gil, full well knowing that you weren't getting a pristine Companion, and you've always provided for his needs. I have seen lazy Benefactors, Mr. Brass, and while it might suit you to seem like one, you aren't. Gil is fully prepared for whatever has happened to make you change. He's not a little boy any longer." She was staring at him, or maybe he was just imagining that.

“Yeah, well I'm no teenager either," Jim replied, taking a large gulp of his wine. "I appreciate all you've done for him, I really do and I get that he's my responsibility. So... better late than never right?" She didn't have a clue. None of them did. It wasn't something that could be explained, not over weak wine and all of that tension because she was pissed off at him.

Hell, he usually got one date in before beautiful women were pissed off at him. "I suppose. You're aware that your responsibilities are very much like those in a marriage?"

"Oh yeah." And he had such a great track record when it came to marriage. "Trust me, I know."

He looked at his empty glass a moment and then said in a very low voice. "Gil will be safe with me. He won't be mistreated, he won't be hurt. He will be allowed all the freedom I can give him and I'll do my best to give him what he deserves, okay?"

"Then you're aware that what he deserves is you?" That was a hell of a thing to say, but she stood up and headed towards the door. "I'm going to bring him in now."

Jim nodded, and made some attempt to be a little more presentable. It wasn't the kid's fault; he hadn't had a choice in this.

Which was kinda the whole point.

She stepped outside and into the hallway, and Jim wondered if the kid was out in the hall. She was quiet out there, no talking, but that didn't mean anything. Gil signed. 

He didn't expect Lady Heather to step back in the door with a taller man following her, wearing a crisp white shirt, black pants, polished shoes... He was good looking, Jim could tell when Lady Heather stepped to the side. Cleft chin, curly hair that looked like he'd taken time to comb into some semblance of order. And his eyes lit up, god knew why, when they landed on Jim.

"Jim Brass, meet Gil, your Companion."

Oh God, those blue eyes. It hit something too raw inside him, that memory that had never faded, no matter how much he had drunk, how close to oblivion he had skirted.

He had intended a lot of things. Maybe to be diffident. To be a bit scornful or.... something. But he was standing there staring as if someone had stunned him with a concussion and he just had no words.

"Gil." He managed that much and he had a smile there for him, drawn out of somewhere long forgotten. "It's been a long time."

Gil smiled, that soft smile that he half remembered on a child's face, and stepped forwards. He walked like he was gliding, and it was only if Jim looked hard that he noticed he was a little bow legged. "It has. Hi."

He'd been right. It was a damn sight easier to do this when he hadn't seen or spoken to him. "You look good," he said after a moment to get his brain to talk to him properly. He knew what he was doing. He shouldn't have started drinking, he couldn't concentrate as well. Or maybe he hadn't drunk enough.

He looked young still. Jim guessed he looked that young once, but he had a feeling he never appeared quite as innocent.

"Thank you." Gil was still smiling, like he had to continue keeping a hold of himself. "I've been... wanting to see you again, Jim. To Go Home with you." There was a strange importance put to the words, and Gil was still walking towards him.

"Yeah." Jim felt a little ashamed of that but he had reasons. "Yeah, I know, Gil. We're going home. Together." It was a worthless sort of apology after five years of waiting, but that was his point. The kid had to wait five years for him and he didn't get a choice in the matter.

"I...." Gil's face twisted a little, and then he was right there, down on his knees, arms around Jim's legs. "Thought you were never coming."

"Hey, hey... kid... you don't have to do that," Jim said hurriedly, embarrassed at the gesture. "Get up, Gil. Up." He tried hard to get him to stand. If he thought of him like a little brother that was easier. Much easier. "C'mon, it's gonna be okay."

"Now that you've come." And he was still holding on, arms around Jim's legs, the side of his face pressed against Jim's thigh. "This is the best gift, Jim."

Talk about embarrassing, and uncomfortable. "Gil. Come on. Please, get up now." He tried a little firmer. "No kneeling, Gil, I mean it." It made his head ache and he didn't want to think about it. He knew the kid didn't mean anything and it was a sweet reflection of a Companion's devotion but.... he wasn't comfortable with it.

He didn't want a kneeling groveling Companion. He didn't even want Companion, period. Gil started to stand up, but he used Jim's leg to steady himself when he shifted back, getting up smoothly. "I'm sorry. I just... I've missed you. It's so good to see you here."

"Gil? Why don't you sit down? You're going to need to go to the hall soon, and I can have your bags put in Mr. Brass's car."

"Thank you, Lady Heather, I appreciate that," Jim replied rather cynically, considering it a move to make sure he didn't go off and leave his Companion behind. He'd driven out from Vegas to be here, he wasn't going to take off again. "Have a seat Gil. And I... I guess you can tell me what I should expect to see at this 'Presentation' huh?"

Gil sat down in a movement that Jim could only call precise -- knees together, forearms resting on the arms of the chair. But he looked comfortable that way, even sitting up straight and tall. "It's only the formal presentation of the Companions that were picked up last week. There were three of them, and they're all local. Since the College is so close, they don't bother to rent out a hall for the ceremony."

"That would be a bit over the top, yeah." He nodded, some of it coming back to him. But Benefactor lessons were a long time ago and he remembered something about a compulsory ceremony that officially marked the Companion as his and that was about it. "So what happens?"

Gil was looking at him for a moment, and then he shifted, loosely crossing his legs at the knee. His shoes were polished to a shine that put Jim's old army parade dress to shame. He probably did that himself, too. "It's a social event. There's a meet and greet, and then everyone is seated. The Companions come out on stage -- they're introduced, ceremonially deflowered, branded, and then they're given their ID. Then their Benefactors socialize a little with them. They usually take their Companions home early in the evening." 

Yeah, to un-ceremonially deflower them. Did that even count with Gil?

"Uh... they can do that to guys?" The thought of it made Jim very uncomfortable. Of course when he had been having those lessons he had been thinking he would chose a female Companion and he understood that bit of it. Symbolically breaking the hymen in a similar way to the old ways of medieval marriage where the practice had its roots.

"And when you say branded you mean... with fire?"

"Some Benefactors arrange different ways, but it comes down to the same thing -- your family symbol, or one of your creation burned onto my skin. Branding," Gil shrugged a little. "It's... been a while since you socialized with other Benefactors?"

If at all. 

"Yeah you could say that. The lessons were a long time ago and they didn't go into a whole lot of detail." Jim looked at him. They were making him take a goddamn slave. Dress it up in tradition, in history all you liked, they were making Gil into a slave and him into an owner. He tried to stop the feeling of anger that welled up. "I don't suppose there's anyway of getting around that bit is there?" he asked faintly.

"No." Gil tilted his head a little. "A Companion has to be presented before they can get their ID card. Without a Benefactor ID... We don't exist after the CCCC ID expires." Blue eyes had the oddest expression in them, like Gil didn't know what to do with Jim.

"Oh right. Uh, what about missing out the branding and deflowering bit?" Jim asked a little hopefully.

He'd promised himself. Name only. He would fulfill duty but that was it. No other binding connection. He nearly smiled. He didn't need to take anyone else down with him. He'd already done that once, if he thought about it long enough. "No?" Gil's voice sounded like it was taking on a worried note. "That's part of being presented. Some Benefactors mitigate the circumstances, but..."

"Mitigate?" That sounded promising. "Mitigate sounds good." Jim commented. "That's got to be a good thing right?"

"Well, the Benefactor... you. It's up to you to choose what's used, and where the brand goes, and what it is." A faint furrow developed between his eyebrows, and he was still watching Jim.

"Well... I guess I'll think about that a little more," Jim replied as he looked at his empty glass and wished for a refill.

No brand if he could help it and he could be 'deflowered' with a damn feather as far as he was concerned. He looked down again, looking and feeling a little morose.

"Sometimes Companions and Benefactors... pick them out together." Gil seemed to suggest that so tentatively, even while he stood up, and headed to the sideboard on the other side of the room.

He didn't want to think about it. He didn't even want to consider the idea let alone go into some weird bonding ritual over how precisely to mutilate his Companion. "Oh?" he made the answer bland and not very open to the idea.

Gil came up behind his chair, and picked up the wine glass. He had the bottle in hand, probably the only drink there in that sidebar, and refilled Jim's glass. "In the spring, one of our Companions had some kind of pen-branding, like a tattoo. It was interesting, and her Benefactor was there the whole time. I doubt we'll have that this time."

"Tattoo's aren't so bad," Jim replied. "Thanks." He took a too big a mouthful and hated the fact that he wanted nothing more than to get drunk to the edge of oblivion because that would mean not having to deal with any of this shit. If he did that then he would have less time to drive back to Vegas, less vacation. But this wasn't really a vacation at all. This was an exercise in forcing him to do  
what everyone expected him to do.

Gil hovered by the side of the chair, and set the wine bottle down. "Jim?"

"Yeah?" Jim looked up at him trying to convince himself that he wasn't interested in him that much. Really.

He seemed to hesitate, those blue eyes looking a little confused. "You seem tired. Is there anything I can do?"

"Nah, it's okay, Gil, it was just a pretty long drive and I was doing it in the time I usually sleep so I'm a bit... you know, irritable." It wasn't the kids fault. He just didn't know any better. He didn't know what he could have, just what he was given to and that wasn't right.

He was a handsome young man. Gil was supposed to be out in clubs and bars picking people up and having bad one-night stands. Like Jim did. "I can understand that. Are we going back tomorrow, or...? The presentation will probably go on for a while."

He'd drive tonight if he thought he wasn't over the limit. "I've got a suite in a nearby hotel," Jim replied. "We'll head back tomorrow." He'd be better on home ground. If Vegas was home ground.

It was as close as he got.

Gil inclined his head, and opened his mouth to say something when the doors opened again. Lady Heather was back, looking faintly amused and flustered. "Gil? You're going to have to take your tarantula with you, so she's going with your things to Mr. Brass's car. Will she be all right?"

"She'll be fine." Gil finally smiled a little wider, a little brighter.

"Tarantula?" Jim looked at her to see if she were joking. "You're kidding right?" Spiders. He knew Gil liked bugs but...

There was liking bugs, and then there was liking them a lot, owning one. "No. She's a red-baboon tarantula, just a little over five inches long. She's great." Gil was still smiling, and it was funny how the conversation was suddenly less stilted and halting. Probably because Gil knew what to do with his bugs. "Defanged and very safe. I saved up my allowance to buy her."

"Well if she makes you happy, then that's great," Jim said genuinely enough. Bugs didn't do it for him, but he liked the way Gil smiled when he was talking about them, being happy and real about what he was feeling. Not having to be a certain way. "Got many more I should know about?"

"Lucky escaped last year and met an untimely end with a vacuum cleaner."

Lady Heather was smiling as she walked towards them. "That's a 'no'. You're lucky that we talked him out of raising the… gigantic roach he brought home from a crime scene."

"...A crime scene?" Jim had missed that. No, wait, hadn't he signed some authorization for work placement experience? He remembered something like that. "Is that where you've been getting experience? With the police?"

"And the coroner's office. But mostly with the Criminalistics lab, lately." Gil moved to put the wine bottle back to the sideboard while he talked.

"They'll be sad to see him go," Lady Heather murmured. "It's time, and if you'd like to walk..."

"Sure. Sure." Jim got up, frankly relieved that he was going to be able to talk about his job with someone who vaguely knew about it. And that it was something he could pretend was at least vaguely normal. "You want to show me the way in, Gil?"

"Of course." Gil stepped away a little, waiting for Jim to stand up and join him. He seemed to be standing a little awkwardly again, like he didn't know what to do with his hands while he stood. 

Jim walked over and felt a little awkward just standing there. Damn, he hated expectations. Rather tentatively he put his hand on Gil's lower back to steer him next to him because he remembered what it was like to be embarrassed in front of all of his friends. He could play some of the part even if he felt awkward and ashamed of doing it. He'd done worse.

"It's this way." Gil was still smiling, and he moved one hand a little, sliding back behind Jim a little, fingers touching his back.

Okay, that was a little friendly, and when Gil started to walk, Jim could feel the smooth shift of muscles under his palm with every motion.

Jim moved with him, just half wishing this were something normal. No Companion complications involved. That he'd met Gil in a bar and had been flattered that someone so young and smart and good looking had been interested in him, and things had gone from there. But... there was the complication, and he couldn't avoid it. Gil was a Companion and he just... couldn't deal with a Companion. As a person yeah, as a pseudo-brother or friend, yeah but... he choked on the concept of Companions. Because now he was older and wiser -- nah, more experienced rather than wiser -- he knew what it really meant.

It had seemed like a great thing when he was a kid, but Gil didn't get any choices. Didn't have a chance to be normal, didn't know how to be anything other than what he was. Didn't get to choose Jim, because Jim knew even he wouldn't choose himself. 

"It's a nice auditorium," Gil told him as he lead the way out of the Headmistress's house, opening the front door. "They hold dance classes there normally, and Practicum."

"You did dance practice?" Jim asked. He shouldn't be surprised because his mom still danced even now, danced with his dad and he wondered even now how much of that was real. How much of it she really wanted, how much of it was because she didn't know any better. Would she have chosen his dad if things had been different? Why did no one else have this problem? Why couldn't they see that there was a big flaw in the system -- they talked about unconditional love and all of that, but was it real? How could love be unconditional without a choice?

It never seemed to bother anyone else. Maybe that was why he drank so much.

"Classical dance. Ball room, mostly. I still have two left feet and I lead better than I follow." Maybe he was imagining it, but Gil got closer to him as they headed down the stairs, and he started to lead them across the lawn, cutting through the grass instead of sticking to the sidewalk.

"My mom was better at leading too," Jim replied smiling a little. He remembered her attempts to teach him grace and poise. It had been an uphill struggle. "I think I've got two right feet. You think we might even out?"

"We might." That was said slyly, and he didn't want to know what Gil's face looked like, because he was going to keep looking at him if he didn't look at the scenery around him instead. "If you're not too tired, we could see tonight?"

Hell, he could. Make a good impression with the Headmistress, head off some suspicion. "Sure. If you don't mind making a spectacle of yourself."

"I do it on a daily basis just by driving to work. This won't be the first time I've danced badly." He moved his hand a little, higher, closer to Jim's shoulder blades. He was glad he was wearing a suit jacket, even if it was summer, and wished that Gil was so he wouldn't have to keep feeling those muscles move while Gil led him towards the auditorium. Once they'd rounded a corner, it was pretty obvious where they were headed, since there were men in suits and sharply dressed women, mostly, with them.

He and Gil looked downright plain compared to them.

He didn't really care that much -- he worked on the principle that he was pretty often better dressed than the people he worked with. Well the dead ones at least. Looks and presentation were not his thing -- he was in a department with what he privately termed the Vegas Calendar Boys and Girls who could be glamorous, rugged, handsome even while pulling trace out of a two month old corpse.

"Well, I'll try not to step on your toes. You can kick me in the shins if I do."

"Okay." And Gil laughed, a quick chuckle as they got closer to blending into that crowd. There was one sharply dressed man wearing a tuxedo, arm over the shoulders of a girl of maybe seventeen, who was wearing a long gold cloak. That stood out in the crowd, because there was fancy, and then there was wearing a cloak.

Jim looked at her a moment. "Someone you know?" he hazarded a guess. A cloak? There was hearkening back to historical precedent and there was... a cloak.

"Denise," Gil murmured. "She's going to be presented tonight. I tutored her in history and Practicum. She's a nice girl." A gorgeous girl, black hair, dusky skin, and that bastard who had his arm around her... well, Jim was assuming he was a bastard. He could save himself time if he just assumed every guy in the room was a bastard.

That included himself if he was brutally honest. "Are cloaks compulsory?" Jim said still staring. "Because I could see you in a sort of Dracula type get up..."

"I think my hair would lessen the effect." Gil turned his head a little, looking at Jim for a moment, and then he seemed to decide upon something, and Jim couldn't fathom what. "There are clothes to be worn. You'll see."

"What, like something... ceremonial?" Jim asked. He shouldn't be surprised. Brides wore white on their wedding day after all.

"The cloak. That's it, almost. I have a cloak and a what might as well be a jockstrap." Jockstrap, right, because Gil had a penis.

Jim blinked a bit. "That's it?" he said in a slightly stunned voice. The mental image was nearly blinding him -- a cloak and a jockstrap. Jesus Christ.

"The point is to show us off," Gil told him in a reminding tone. His voice fell a little quieter as they started up the short stairs into the auditorium, and he moved closer to Jim. "I think she'll have a bra on. Sometimes they do, sometimes they don't. It doesn't matter by the end."

Jim could see an evening of complete misery looming in a week's time. Could they have designed it to be any more humiliating aside from stripping them naked and forcing them to prostrate themselves or something? "Okay, tell me what happens at the end," Jim said a little tersely.

"What do you mean? Most of us are branded on the shoulder, so..." So it wasn't as bad as Jim was half-assuming. Just logic that bra-straps and freshly burnt skin didn't mix. The fucked up part was that he was even having to consider it.

"Is that what you want?" he asked tentatively. He'd look for a way out but he had a sinking feeling that he couldn't get out of it. Like he hadn't been able to get out of picking Gil up. "On the shoulder?"

"I'm... not sure. I haven't given it much thought." That was a little firm, so maybe he was being honest and didn't know, but that didn't know seemed to be leaning towards a 'no'. "I'd like it somewhere that doesn't hurt."

"Yeah, I'd like that for you too," Jim said with genuine conviction. Maybe he could ask Al when he got back to Vegas where he thought would be best or if he could get some drugs to help or something.

Al would know. The only problem with that was that did he ask it in a casual 'I'm planning to get a tattoo' friend of a friend way, or did he tell him what the problem was? Because while they were going to figure it out at work sometime, the morgue was gossip central.

"Thanks."

He had no idea what they would do with the knowledge there was a genuine Benefactor working as a CSI. Benefactors didn't work at that level. They also weren't cops either, they got the breaks and the promotions and the hand ups to the promotions and were in safe, well paying jobs.

Jim wouldn't know about any of that, so maybe he really wasn't the right type to know.

He'd never gotten the cushy jobs, he'd never taken them, and he'd never taken the easy way out. Except this, with Gil, except that he had a feeling that the easy way out would have been to abandon him. Just let him get turned out onto the street and...

Jim wasn't sure what would have happened to Gil if he hadn't have come. He would've ended up homeless, probably, and without an identification all of his Companion certificates wouldn't get him anywhere in life. He probably would've ended up a whore. On the street, instead of a clean, well-groomed personal whore for Jim.

They passed through the lobby, and Gil's fingers were still on his back. Every so often, he waved to this girl or that boy, and it seemed like half of the Companions there knew him.

Maybe one of them would have taken him in. Maybe... no, that wasn't how it worked. And he'd known that if nothing else, he couldn't walk away from a situation just because it was uncomfortable. Yeah, he could try and avoid it, or procrastinate some, but in the end if there was a choice between Gil being on the streets and him picking him up, he'd pick him up.

He knew all about Duty even if he knew none of the niceties of Benefactor life anymore.

Part of him wanted to be like that -- strolling around in a tux, secure in himself, but... That wasn't him. That wasn't Jim Brass, and it would've been a lie. He hadn't ever been cut out for the Benefactor shit. After all, they were heading into the ballroom, and he didn't know what he was supposed to do. Chat with people? Network?

Jim wasn't interested in any of that. He didn't deal with those... his type of people except if one of them was involved in a crime. He'd never had to seriously socialize. He'd stick close to Gil and maybe that would be a good thing if they thought he was over-enamored of his new Companion.

There was booze circulating, too, Jim realized as they moved into the place, waiters circling with trays. He was just about to grab for one when another Benefactor started to talk to him.

"I don't think I've seen you before. Are you new to the area?"

"New in that I'm only here picking up my Companion," Jim said politely enough. "Tomorrow we'll be heading out of town." Maybe the guy would get the hint he didn't want to exchange life histories and back off.

Gil's fingers turned a little nervous, moving fitfully against Jim's back. "Really? He looks a little old..."

Maybe a year younger or the same age as the man's Companion. She had red hair that looked chic and stylish, and she looked absolutely miserable. "My name's Todd Piccone, Assistant City Attorney, and this is Sasha, my Companion."

"Jim Brass, CSI Las Vegas," Jim replied, knowing he had little chance to do anything but make small talk. "And this is Gil. My Companion. "

Damned if he'd justify his life and decisions to a stranger. Todd's face registered a strange not-expression that piqued Jim's curiosity. "Gil. I think he was here when Sasha was just finishing up her certificate. Isn't that right?" That was Sasha's cue to talk, or permission, or something. Jim wasn't sure.

"Yeah. Hi, Gil. Looks like you're finally getting out of here."

"Mmm." That was the least talkative he'd ever seen Gil. "Jim, do you want a drink?"

"Please, Gil," Jim nodded, resisting the urge to narrow his eyes at the other man. The man was guilty of something. It oozed out of every pore and he could tell. He was good at that, at knowing the way people twisted and turned. That was his area of 'genius' at the lab. The things that could happen when you least expected it. "Yeah, I was... unavoidably detained in Nevada and Gil used the time well in his training."

"I'm sure he did it well. So you're a CSI? They're CSAs out here, but it's all the same. How did you decide to do that?" While Todd talked, Gil broke away from Jim, with a determination to his step that made Jim wonder if he was going to tackle a waiter to get a drink. Sasha moved to step away, but she couldn't. Todd's fingers were white knuckled on her hand.

"Yeah." Jim barely glanced at his hand but he noticed it and plastered on a smile. "Oh hey, I forgot to tell Gil not to get me white. Would you mind sending your Companion after him just for a moment?" He made it sound casual and reasonable as if he really were that stupid. A lot of people were that stupid. "I sort of slid into the role when I moved up to Vegas. I had a lot of field experience from Jersey but I wanted something new. You know how it is..."

"Sure. Sasha? Be a dear and see to that." He released her hand, and if she would've run in those heels, Jim would've bet that she would. She could definitely get the leg movement she needed with that slit up to her thigh that her dress had. "So what do you do back in Jersey? Cop?"

"I was a cop in Jersey," Jim said. "Homicide. And then made the move to Vegas. You've done well to be a DA."

Todd was looking at him like he was a space alien. "It was hard work, but, well. When you want something hard enough, you work for it. I know some good cops in homicide -- actually, I know a homicide cop that's local who used to work in Jersey. Annie Kramer, did you know her?"

Annie. God, yeah. "Yeah, I know her pretty well," he said. Mentally he was pretty damn sure that Annie would want nothing to do with this ladder-climbing piece of shit. "Used to be good friends." Still would be if he hadn't taken everything so hard.

His life with Janice had fallen apart and then there'd been Annie, and strangely the worst blow had been to find out that there were people higher up than him undercutting every move he made against corruption. Against him. "Yeah? Fallen out of touch? I can give you her number if you want..."

"Yeah, that might be good," Jim agreed and cast around valiantly for some form of conversation. "I have to admit, I'm a bit nervous about this whole Companion thing. How long has Sasha been with you?"

"Sasha? She's great. A little willful, but we've been working on that." Todd smiled a little to himself, and he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, fishing through it probably for Annie's card. It made sense if she was still a homicide detective. Assistant DAs worked pretty closely with them. "She's three months along now."

"Well congratulations," Jim said because he guessed that was what he was meant to say. "Willful, hey?"

What, she said 'No' or 'Stop' sometimes? Fuck, yeah that was willful. Jim was abruptly tempted to introduce the man to the realities of street justice.

If they weren't in a crowded room, he would've hit the guy, even though he was handing over Annie's card. "Here you go. Yeah, a little. She was enamored with some of the men she did Practicum with here at the college, and I guess I don't entirely meet her standards. We're still getting used to each other."

"Yeah? How long do you reckon that takes?" Jim asked as if he really were as green as all that. He knew people and he knew that sometimes people just weren't compatible. He wondered briefly if Gil had been enamored of someone at the college as well.

"It depends from person to person. Sometimes no time at all, sometimes a few weeks, sometimes years. Sasha and I will work it out." And if she was a little older or as old as Gil, and he'd had her out for a while, then he was talking in terms of years. Years having already passed. "How do you think it's going to go with yours?"

"Pretty good I hope," Jim replied. "Though I'm pretty used to doing my own thing." Sitting drinking, or working, mainly. Working in someone else into that schedule might be difficult but he guessed he'd manage it.

"Going to marry?" He glanced to the card he'd passed Jim, and that Jim was pocketing.

"Once bitten..." Jim said and shrugged. "I don't know. What's the difference with marriage then?" More legal binds? Did they get any more rights or was it just another way to tighten a hold?

"Well, after Sasha has our child, I have to marry her. Then she won't be a Companion anymore, not in the traditional sense. She could leave me if she wanted." Somehow, Jim thought that was probably what Sasha wanted to do the most. "Your Companion, though... well, it's not unheard of for a man to have a marriage and a male Companion. Some women like that, you know?"

Privately Jim began to wonder if the solution to all of this was to get married to his male Companion. It wasn't like there weren't a lack of one-stop marriage shops in Vegas. He felt a little more at ease.

"Yeah, well my ex wasn't one of those," he said a little ruefully. Janice had cheated on him and he'd taken it. But he had some pride.

Eventually. 

"No? Ah, so you've been married. Well, you'll find that Companions are quite different." Todd craned his head, but Gil was coming back, Sasha at his side, both of them carrying glasses of wine. They looked like they'd been conferring or who knew what. He'd ask Gil later. He hoped though that there was some out for Sasha. Maybe Companions weren't so brainwashed that they couldn't leave because she looked like she would run the moment the ink was dry on the marriage certificate. If Todd tried to stop her, if it was a normal case, he was pretty sure that they'd be processing his death scene in short order.

He hoped for her sake that she would. Todd was a prick, he could tell that.

"Well I'm hoping so?" Jim returned with fake sincerity. "I don't need complications."

Todd laughed. "I don't think any of us do. Jim Brass, I like you."

Gil pressed the glass into Jim's hand, and was pressed tight up to his side right away. Sasha seemed reluctant to even get close to Todd. "I wasn't sure if you wanted something other than wine." Maybe he was imagining it, but Gil's breath smelled like alcohol. In fact, like they had whiskey somewhere around.

"Well, maybe later I'll change to something stronger," he said. "Thank you, Gil." He made a show of looking over the room. "Mmm, looks like they're getting ready, doesn't it?"

Todd smiled, and turned a little. "It does. I think Sasha and I are going to get seats while the first rows are still open. Do you want to?"

He wasn't sure if he wanted front row seats to watch that, and he guessed he ought to be gracious, but he wasn't the gracious type. "You go ahead, I think I might have to pay a visit to the rest room before everything kicks off." He smiled a little. "Gil, could you show me where they are, please?"

"Of course." Gil's fingers were pressed against his back again, and he twisted to start leading Jim off.

"Good to meet you, Todd, Sasha," Jim said cordially as they walked away and he tried to resist looking back because that would give away the fact he was essentially running away. His expression mirrored his distaste and as soon as they were far enough away he muttered, "Asshole," under his breath.

"You have no idea," Gil murmured in return, still walking. The crowd thinned out down the side hall, and then turned to almost nothing by the time that Jim could see a sign on the door with a male figure. Men's room.

"So what's the real deal with him?" Jim asked in a low murmur. "What did you find out from Sasha?"

"He's a poor excuse for a human being." Gil's voice fell to a whisper. He probably would've been using sign if they were among the normal population, but there at that function, signing was like yelling. "I knew that before Sasha told me how she's been doing."

"Yeah, well I've never met either of them before and I think I worked that one out," Jim murmured. "So she'll leave him when they marry right?"

"I'm sure she will. If he doesn't decide to brain damage her some way. I wouldn't put it past him." Gil pushed open the bathroom door, and pulled away a little. A quick look under the stall doors proved they were alone.

"There must be some way to stop that," Jim said frowning even as he ducked into to take advantage of being there. "Under what circumstances can Companions get out of the situation?"

"There isn't any." Gil was running water, washing his face maybe. "You just hope that the person who chose you is good. Like you."

Jim snorted. "Gil, you don't know me. I'm a bastard when it comes down to it, okay? What's this deal about being able to leave once she's married to him?"

"That's right. Once she gives him an heir. Your mother could have left your father, but it doesn't sound like she did. There's a large degree of freedom after that happens." The running water splashed a little, and then Jim could hear him unwinding paper towels.

"No, my mom... stayed." It some indefinable way he was relieved. The doubts that had plagued him were eroded by that one fact. His mom could have left if she had needed to, but she had chosen to stay and that made his memories sweeter. He rinsed his hands. "Hmm, you know, turns out that Todd and I have a mutual acquaintance. I might give her a call in a few days and get her to keep an eye out on those two. Annie won't stand for that guy's shit. Might be enough to give her a chance."

"Good. She's not happy, and I doubt she's kept that a secret from him. I couldn't... handle someone like him." Gil's voice sounded unsteady, and he was still drying his face. "She was his second Choice."

"Oh. Right." That was some big deal to a Companion. He could remember the young boy being worried about that. "I remember you not wanting to be anyone's second Choice." Jim glanced over at him. "You okay, Gil?"

"No?" Gil grabbed another paper towel, and rubbed at his eyes again. "I don't want to sit near him."

"C'mon, I know he's not exactly the nicest human being in the world, but what's got into you huh?" Jim asked. Gil would have to toughen up a bit if a slime ball like Todd reduced him to a quivering wreck. Unless there was something he was missing.

"Before I started to work for the county, Lady Heather pulled me aside and told me that two of those... people who molested me worked in the county. She wanted me to avoid them, and I'm, I'd like to keep doing that." He took a deep breath, and wadded up the paper towels to toss them into the trash.

Jim froze. "He was one of them?" he said in a flat voice. He had no idea where the anger came from. It was as if there was a limitless well of it inside him that he could just tap at any given moment. "One of those that hurt you?"

He'd wasted polite conversation on that fucking bastard who had molested Gil when he was a kid. His Companion, had touched him, thought no one would chose him and what? That he could come back afterwards?

"He thought no one would choose you after." Jim said flatly. "Right?"

"Right." Gil was watching him, standing mostly still. "It doesn't happen often, if something like that has happened." Probably because either their molester picked them or no one picked them, because there was that strange emphasis on purity and virginity and Companions being just their Benefactor's. "So, that's what's gotten into me."

"Gil..." What could he say? What could he do? Start a fight? Beat the crap out of him? What would that gain anyone?

Well he'd feel a hell of a lot better. Better call that Plan B. Plan A was going to need more work. He knew the way people worked, the down side. He knew that someone who had that craving in him for young boys then never lost that. Somewhere, there was a trail, and he'd find it.

"I'll deal with it, okay?"

The only way he could. After all, just because he was a Benefactor meant that he could treat his Companion like crap, but there couldn't be a string of little Companion boys for him to molest. Lady Heather seemed too much like a mother bear to let that happen without calling a hit down on the guy, and it made Jim wonder what her story was. So that meant he was probably hurting boys, neighborhood boys. 

All someone needed to do was start nosing around. 

"Okay. Do you want to go back now?" His instincts tugged at him. He wanted to comfort Gil, to protect him and he'd only known him for a couple of hours. "Only if you're okay," he said seriously. 

"I think I'll be all right." Gil rubbed at his wrist for a moment, and then glanced to Jim again. "As long as I don't have to sit with him."

"We'll be fashionably late then and stand at the back," Jim replied and moved closer. "I wish you'd told me sooner. I would've had an excuse to hit the guy and that would have saved me a lot of boring conversation."

"But you wouldn't have known your friend was in the area." Yeah, that was a point. Jim was wondering if it would be better to call her, or to try to meet up with her before he and Gil drove back to Vegas. "I had something to drink while I was getting your wine. I hope you don't mind."

"Well if I'd known there was some of that around, I would have asked you to get me some, too," Jim said. "Anytime you want to drink is fine by me, Gil."

Shit he should have come down earlier, but he wanted to do something. Maybe tomorrow. They could fit in a visit tomorrow and Annie would understand, even if things had been screwed up. That would mean not a lot of time before they got back to Vegas, but if he left it, it wouldn't happen.

"C'mon, let’s go back. There's some sort of music going on so I'm guessing that is the cue for the Presentation right?"

"It's probably started," Gil agreed. He seemed to have trouble moving smoothly from standing there to getting close to Jim again, like he didn't know how to do it in any way but a rush. "You probably don't want to see it, I can guess that. But Lady Heather seemed to think you should. I've attended a few of them now. There's never much different about them."

"I think we've pretty much established I don't know enough about what I should know, so that's probably why," Jim said. "C'mon, we'll go, we'll see and then sneak out." And he could drink off some of the bank account in his hotel room.

At least he'd gotten two beds. Then there wouldn't be any problems, nothing sexual going on. Hell, Gil probably didn't even want sex. He wouldn't, if he were Gil. It wasn't like he was getting much say in the matter.

"Sure." And then Gil stepped towards him, slipping his fingers to grasp onto Jim's hand.

He was reminded as they walked of the moment when Gil had Chosen. It seemed so simple then, so easy. But he'd been sixteen and no matter what he thought he was ready for then, he hadn't been. The world had taken great delight in taking every expectation, every ideal he'd ever had and trampling on it. The simple act of Choosing would be no different, he knew that. It would be messy, tangled and inevitably doomed just like every thing he had ever tried to hold on to in his life.

They entered the hall where the Presentation was underway and he stopped, paralyzed by the sight of it all. It was laid out a little like a conveyor belt, he guessed, so there were two parts of the show going on at the same time. The stage wasn't decorated, unless you counted the Companions as decoration.

The girl that Gil recognized was bent in half, naked, holding onto her ankles, facing the wall so that her side faced the crowd. There was one man in a tux with a Mardi Gras style mask over his face, and he was shoving some sort of object into her. Dildo or something. It looked shiny, but standing at the back it was hard for him to guess, exactly.

There were people clapping when he pulled it out and held it up in the air for a moment. Then he put his hand on her back, and she stood up, beautiful graceful motions, and moved to stand on the other side of the stage. There was a little artificial fire pit, and there were two brands heating in it, the third being pressed firmly onto the shoulder blade of another naked girl. She was screaming, and her Benefactor was standing on the side of the stage looking anxious.

Jim just stared. No. No, what the hell was this anyway? An excuse to publicly debase and hurt other human beings? How was this different than the sickos they dealt with all the time on the job? 

All he could think was that that was going to be Gil up there, and that once that had been his mom up there. It was just fucked up, and he knew he should have learned about it beforehand, but he'd skipped classes and hadn't paid attention, and then there had been better things to give his attention to. More normal things. 

Gil jostled him a little, shoulder against shoulder. Huh, he was taller than Jim. Not by much, but a couple of inches was enough to be noteworthy. "Jim? You should probably blink."

He blinked in reaction if nothing else. It made him sick. He'd seen people do worse, he'd... no, he wasn't going there but they were going to make him a party to doing that to someone else. To Gil.

"I think I want to leave," he said in a grim tone.

"Then you've seen enough." It was a strange thing for Gil to say, but he squeezed Jim's fingers and twisted to head to the doors that let into the lobby, ready to drag Jim with him.

"You don't want to say goodbye to anyone else?" Jim asked even as he made for the door as if it were the gateway out of some hell he had stepped into. This had been Gil's home for most of his life and he was just taking him away. Even if he’d sent him all the way out there from Jersey years and years ago.

"I said my goodbyes to Lady Heather and the other teachers before you arrived. I'm older than most of them, and..." He could feel Gil shrug when his hand moved in Jim's. "I'm ready to move on." The kid sounded more certain, more sure of who he was and what he wanted to do than Jim was. He'd been like that once. 

"We'll go to the hotel, then tomorrow I might call Annie before we head back to Vegas." He could drive on this amount of wine even if he probably shouldn't. Fuck it, He didn't want to wait for a cab.

Plus, they'd loaded Gil's things into his car. Tarantula and all.

"Annie? Annie's your old friend, right?" There was a funny quiet note to Gil's voice, and it reminded Jim about the time he'd sent Gil a letter mentioning how Janice had picked a fight with him just before their wedding. Gil had mailed him back a carefully labeled picture of a stick woman with an anvil falling on her head. With 'Janice' written beside her, arrow pointing to her, just in case Jim didn't get it.

"Yeah. We were close. She wasn't pleased that I left for Vegas," Jim replied letting the door close behind him on those surges of applause for what he saw as acts of pain. "She helped me out in Jersey. I'm surprised she moved here. Thought she was Jersey through and through." 

Who was he kidding? He had torn through the PD like an avenging angel and no matter how righteous, in the cops' unwritten code, he had broken a key precept. He had turned on his own. It was only the fact that an almost more primal police 'rule' had been broken that saved him; he'd been betrayed by his partner. That was something that was wrong. A guy always, always watched his partner's back, trusted them...

A guy didn't fuck his partner's wife and try to have him killed. Mike had ironically saved his life but no one was going to be comfortable with him around there. Or his allies. And Annie had been one of those by association.

"Maybe Jersey stopped agreeing with her. She's police?" The sun was starting to set. They probably needed to grab something to eat, but that was what room service was for.

"Yeah. Damn good police. She'll be a Captain some day. Head of department," Jim said with absent pride in how Annie could hold her own in the rough and tumble of Jersey police politics. "Here? She'll wipe the floor with them." Which was exactly what he hoped would happen. Annie never gave up.

They headed to his car. He never had managed to get another Porsche. He smiled a little at the memory. He drove a Ford Mustang nowadays. It was a decent car, got good gas mileage, and with all of the driving he had to do, that mattered. Comfortable and a good after market stereo system, sure, but once upon a time, he'd owned a Porsche.

Now he owned a human being with surgically fixed hearing. He probably still had the letters somewhere, the one where Gil had sounded scared and worried about what might happen to him if he had the surgery. Jim had felt so mature writing and telling him not to be scared. Sending him music to listen to when he got out from the surgery. All of that, all of that was the fairy tale before things had gone to hell for him.

He opened the car up and got in, wondering if he ought to tell Gil to run and take his chances rather than hang out with a bitter, cynical guy like him.

Gil opened the passenger side door, though, and got in. He seemed to be taking everything in, soaking up the look of Jim and Jim's car. "If you're still tired, I could drive."

"Nah, it's okay," Jim said. "Besides, you had a whiskey and I'm guessing you don't drink much. You've got to have practice at it to get tolerance." And he had that in spades. "It's not far to the hotel."

"All right." Gil buckled his seat belt, and leaned his head back against the headrest. "I don't drink much. A little wine on the holidays. But it was drink something or throw up."

He knew that feeling. "Yeah. Look, Gil, I guess you've worked out I don't really have much to do with the normal Benefactor Companion protocols. I just basically want you to do whatever you want to do right? If you want to drink, you drink. You want to go somewhere, do something, you just do it. I'm not like Todd." 

If he was, he hoped he would have had the decency to actually make good on the suicide attempts.

"I know that you're not like that. I don't know what happened to... change you, but you're not a bastard." Had Gil even listened to what he'd said before that?

He sighed even as he turned the ignition and pulled out. "Yeah, I am, Gil. A different type, maybe, but definitely one. I'll tell you sometime and you can make the judgment for yourself. In the meantime, I drink too much, I piss people off and have the talent of knowing the criminal mind probably because, as more than one person has suggested, I'm not that far removed. Just think about that."

"Actions speak louder than words." And of course he'd seem like a saint to Gil. Who knew how the kid had built him up in his head? He'd paid for his hearing to be fixed. He'd Chosen him. He'd at least been good to him in terms of care.

Maybe there was a saint out there that had incidentally been a right bastard. "Yeah? So what about the action where I left you for nearly five years past your normal time to Go Home? Huh? What does that tell you?"

Gil didn't answer. He was probably trying to think of an excuse, Jim figured, while he drove past the guard gate at the entrance of the college's grounds. Gil leaned forwards and turned the radio on, and then sat back again.

"That you don't actually want me anymore."

Jim sat in silence a moment as that simple observation cut him to the quick. "I don't want a Companion," he said a little harshly.

But that was very different from not wanting him specifically. He would, he did, he felt the attraction there and he was lonely, bitter and a poor excuse to be responsible for anything or anyone. He got by in Vegas by being everyone's good guy, but no-one's real friend. He was the guy who'd cover your shift, who'd pull the double, who could imagine the unimaginable.

Think the unthinkable with too much ease.

"You Chose me. I'm your Companion." Gil shifted, leaning his arm against the door. He'd probably been thinking about that conversation for years, if that was what he thought. "You're supposed to want me."

"Goddamn it." Jim steered a little vigorously. "You know the worst part? I do. I do fucking want you, and I know I shouldn't. I want you, but… the Companion thing... shit, I can't deal with that."

"So if you'd just... met me somehow, that would be all right? But this isn't?" Gil sounded so curious and calm, and Jim was suddenly having trouble steering. Yeah, he was damn glad the hotel wasn't far. God-dammit.

"Ye- No." Jim wasn't actually sure. "Look, I've got issues with it. I didn't have them before, but I do now. But that shouldn't mean that you have a hard time, you don't have to worry about that."

"I'm not worried about it, because I know you're not one of those Benefactors. You're not a bad person." There was Nirvana playing in the background on the radio, and Jim wanted to find the people who'd created angst rock and kill-- Oh yeah. Too late. 

"They teach you how to work that out?" he asked automatically to cover his thoughts. All he wanted was to sit down with a scotch, or whatever spirits came to hand and drink until he wouldn't dream. There was no way he wouldn't after what he had seen today.

They had terms for what they'd seen, work terms for it, and Gil had to be familiar with them. Ritual mutilation, penetration with a foreign object, object rape, sodomy. Usually mixed up with said victim's death or imminent death. And branding... Jim didn't want to think about hot pokers. Ever. He didn't want to think about what they felt like, didn't want to think about them being pressed to anyone's skin like they were a fucking piece of cattle marked so no one could walk off with it.

"It's logic. Either you're a good person, or a very un-charming sociopath."

"Going with the second might be less disappointing for you," Jim pointed out as they came close to their hotel. "In the long run." He pulled in to park the car.

"Given that you don't remind me of a car salesman, I want to say the second option is unlikely." Gil twisted a little, looking into the back seat. He was probably trying to figure out which bags he actually wanted to drag into the hotel. 

The one thing that woman hadn't been wrong about all of those years ago, Gil had a lot of personality. Not many people in that position could banter like that, calm and collected, like he wanted to be there.

Jim was starting to get a sneaking suspicion that things were slipping out of his control. He'd tried warning him, he'd tried being a miserable bastard, cynical and unpleasant and it felt like he was shouting at himself in a padded room. The worst thing was he could easily fall for Gil, easily. His personality was right, his look, his feel, even that need to be protected that triggered that certain something in Jim he couldn't avoid. "Get your things. Whatever you need for tonight."

Gil popped open the passenger side door, and unbuckled his seat belt in the same smooth motion. “Okay.” The question was, what did the kid thing he'd need for the night? There was a world of possibilities, and Jim didn't know what Gil had been taught was 'normal'. There were probably all sorts of expectations in his head -- first night with his Benefactor, in a nice hotel. Gil leaned into the back seat, the bottom edge of his shirt pulling out of the tidy tuck-job that he'd had it in. He grabbed a strange little terrarium thing that had a handle, and a small duffle. 

The duffle had been one of Jim's back from his duty, and somewhere along the line he'd sent Gil some gift in it, using the duffle as padding or wrapping or something. He just hadn't expected Gil to keep it, but what did the kid have except his allowance money and the scraps that Jim gave him?

Nothing, and that was a sobering thought. And that, Jim considered as they headed up to his room together, was the last thing that he wanted right now. Or ever again.

* * *

It could have been worse.

It could have been worse, and Gil kept reminding himself of that. Jim was in the bathroom of the two bed suite, and Gil was left to the quiet of the too-lush decorations. Lola was walking between his hands, and she seemed to want to walk up his arm, but Gil didn't want Jim to startle himself -- and Lola -- when he came out of the bathroom. A tarantula on the loose was always a troublesome event. 

But he could stroke over the delicate hairs, and it calmed him while he tried to plan what he was going to do because Jim didn't seem to want anything that he'd been trained for. He wanted Gil, apparently, but not a Companion, and that was a strange mental twist for Gil, because he was a Companion and there was no undoing it. 

It was a mental leap that couldn't be avoided. It wasn't something he did, it was who he was and he was good at it, and he wanted to be good at being a Companion. Lady Heather had held a long discussion with him about what it was Companions did and he knew that she believed wholeheartedly in Companionship as a calling, not just a role. She sometimes disapproved of the way their gifts were squandered but she had said that a Companion was a treasure because they could give what was lacking in life for so many.

Gil had hoped to be able to do that, and do it for Jim. He had been 'reading' his Benefactor-to-be and the man was a mess of conflicting needs and desires. He was beginning to wonder how the man ever made the decision to get up in the mornings.

But where did that leave him?

With, if he was going to live up to years of over-training, a lot of work on his hands. First would be getting Jim to trust him, or over that mental hurdle. He just wasn't sure how to go about it, because he hadn't been taught how to approach things in singular stages. There wasn't clear cut 'if your Benefactor has problems' lessons anywhere that said how to build trust and when to do what or when to make what movement.

All Gil could do was follow his gut instincts, and be himself. Focus on Jim and not his own issues.

It probably would have been easier if Jim had picked a Companion who'd been a little more... something. Together or focused, except he didn't seem to want that kind of Companion, the ones who could shut themselves off wholly for their Benefactor.

Lola wandered over his fingers and he watched her intently as he tried plotting and planning. It was difficult, his thoughts were still all over the place from seeing Todd at that party. He hadn't thought it would hit him that way, and it just made him wonder if he was as ready as he seemed to think for the physical stage of their relationship.... if they ever got that far. Jim seemed to be thinking he was going to push him off to one side and that would be that.

And then in the next breath he was promising to fix things, to make things better. To protect him.

So how did he get him to trust him, to open up to him? Difficult. Very difficult. Maybe he could just talk about it? Or... show him somehow.

Actions spoke louder than words, after all. But if Jim wasn't going to believe him, then Jim wasn't going to believe him, actions or words. He seemed to think they were all like... Puppets, when it was entirely different than that. Jim had chosen Gil, but that didn't mean that Gil had to like him, and sometimes Companions didn't. Sasha hadn't ever liked Todd, possibly because he was a sick child molester. It had been a while since he'd thought about that, but it had also been a while since Lady Heather had made him attend Practicum, and it had always crept to the edge of his mind then, the faint thought-knowledge that he knew what sex could actually feel like, that being dressed and rubbing against another male Companion was nothing like a hand clamped over his mouth when everything hurt. That was the bad side of it, of course, and Gil didn't have to question whether he actually liked men or not. Or women. Both, because he'd always spent Practicum as hard as a rock, and he'd had to jerk off in the shower afterwards because it was the only place on campus he could touch himself and get away with it.

Lola started to walk up the sleeve of his shirt, and Gil shifted his thumb to stop her from walking further. "Sorry. You have to go back in the tank. I should get undressed."

He carefully guided her onto his palm and let her walk back into her tank.

That was the other thing. What was he going to do? He needed things to do. Sasha didn't work and had confessed to being bored as hell. They were trained and educated to the highest standards and then when they left, sometimes that meant nothing. They just sat there waiting for their Benefactor to tell them what next. Jim didn't seem like that type, but on the other hand he obviously hadn't given a lot of thought to the whole deal. He had known very little about the ceremony and he'd seen his face when he witnessed the Presentation.

Jim had been horrified. That was a little comforting, actually, because while Gil considered it a fact of life, a reality, he wasn't happy about facing that. He was hardly comfortable being naked with himself. Being publicly 'taken' was a little much for him to contemplate. But the branding...

He liked the idea of the branding, a little, but he wasn't going to tell Jim that. He liked the idea of bearing Jim's brand, of being his.

There was a security in it, a sense of belonging, and sometimes that wasn't a bad thing. Not for Companions anyway. It was what they all wanted. He wondered if he could explain that to Jim.... it would be worth a try. But he had a sneaking suspicion he needed to find out what had happened to him to make him this way. It might be breaking up with Janice, which he had been secretly really happy about but he couldn't see how that translated to objecting to a Companion, but not to him. It might put him off relationships of any type.

But not just... Companions.

Gil closed and secured the lid on Lola's terrarium, and then walked to set her on the desk on the other side of the room. The water had stopped running, finally.

Jim came in with a towel wrapped around his waist and a slightly alcoholic look of blurring around the edges in his expression. He'd been drinking since he came in and seemed not to care any more about anything. Gil couldn't help but look at him. Fit enough, still showing muscle in the right places. What he hadn't been expecting was the faint silver of scars. He guessed that normally they wouldn't show up so much, but after a hot shower the contrast was there.

"You want a shower?" Jim said even as he rubbed at his hair.

"Not really." He'd showered that morning, cleaned, shaved, essentially everything he needed to do to impress his Benefactor. He'd been right in guessing that all of that effort was going to go to waste. Gil started to unbutton his shirt at the wrists, eyeing Jim. His hair was thinning a little at the front, but. But he was good looking and Gil still wanted him.

He knew that being a cop could sometimes be physical but some of those scars didn't look.... right. He had to remind himself not to stare too much, not just yet. Jim just slipped on a pair of boxers under his towel and that was apparently him ready for bed. 

Gil watched him as he bent over and rummaged in one of his own cases. "Fucking pills," he heard him grumble and then apparently he gave up looking and walked over to fetch himself another drink.

"Can I help you find something?" Gil offered, putting his cufflinks on the desk beside the terrarium.

"Nah. Probably shouldn't take them with all the alcohol I've been drinking," Jim said and added to it by pouring a shot from a bottle that Gil was certain hadn't come from the mini bar. "I'm still on Vegas time. It can screw with my sleeping patterns. Did you order any room service?"

"Yes and no. I called a Pizza Hut, and it should be here in ten minutes." Which meant that one of them should be presentable for answering the door, so Gil stopped undressing after he'd taken his belt off. "You don't mind an everything?"

"Sounds good," Jim replied. "I have pretty simple tastes. Cop's tastes. Same for CSI. You eat take out because you need it at night."

"I know. Dayshift isn't that much more food-friendly." Except Gil watched what he ate and tried to stay healthy because he wanted to look good for Jim and that had been a waste of time, hadn't it? Gil smiled a little at himself, and moved to sit on the edge of 'his' bed. "And IHOP is always open. The supervisor swore by it."

"There's a great little Chinese place that Warrick and Nick found. Their take out is as good as eating in," Jim mused as he lay back, hands pillowing behind his head. "We use it sometimes when we're working through and having a department meeting on a tricky case."

"That's good." When they got home, maybe he could keep himself busy a little by making lunches for Jim. Except that was a weird thought, and he didn't really want to be trapped at home bored and just waiting for Jim to come back from work. "I've, uh, gotten really used to working. So when we get back to Vegas, I'd like to see if I can get a job."

Jim looked at him and shrugged. "Sure. What would you like to look at?”

Well that had been easy. They'd had a lot of talks on how to delicately open the subject of getting a job and earning if the Benefactor didn't bring it up and Jim had just agreed in two heartbeats to something that could be a major stumbling block in a Companion's relationship.

It really wasn't helping that they were working from completely different points of reference. Gil leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. "A crime lab. I know there's the sheriff's office, but there's also the metropolitan, and there's an FBI lab out there. If no one has an opening, I can at least leave my resume on file with them. There has to be something in the area. I'm qualified to assist coroners, so that's an option." 

Jim was looking at him, assessing him somehow. "So how much do you actually know, Gil?" he asked after a long pause. "With all the extra time I left you with them... how good are you?"

"I started to work with the coroner's office when I was seventeen. I started part time at the county when I was nineteen. And last year I stopped working with the coroner's office and moved full time to working with the County's Crime lab. I have a CCCC doctoral certificate in biology, a masters certificate in entomology, a masters certificate in forensic science, and an associates in law." Gil paused, and managed to smile a little more to himself. "I didn't really like lawyers, but I finished up those classes by the time I was sixteen and forgot most of it within a week."

Jim was just staring at him. "Jesus." He took another gulp of his scotch and carried on staring at him. "Gil, what the hell are you doing hanging around waiting for me? With a resume like that you could be doing anything."

"Except that I can't. I can't work without an ID. I can't work without your permission and you'll get my pay. My pay from the county went back into paying for the last of my classes, but my last couple of weeks of pay will go to you." Jim didn't get it, did he? That Gil wasn't quite a person free to do what he wanted. Or maybe he got it too well.

Jim grimaced slightly and looked at his drink. "Fine. We'll go through with this Presentation thing and then... you can get what job you want. I'll see what's coming up in the department. It's a high turn over job. Then we'll work a joint account and I'll give you a card and we'll share." He paused for a moment. "I'm going to have to do this whether I want to or not aren't I?"

"Going to have to do what?" If he couldn't already feel the faint fuzz from the one whiskey, Gil probably would've taken to drinking, too. And that wasn't a particularly good sign.

"Go through with the Presentation. It's... Christ, we banned slavery but we think it's acceptable to stand around eating canapés while we publicly 'deflower' and brand people?" Jim sounded angry at the mere thought of it. "What's the difference?"

"Do you actually want an answer to that? You could call it mostly benevolent slavery, if you wanted to. I don't care what you call it. I'm not actually looking forward to the 'deflowering' part of the presentation, myself. If--" There was a knock on the door, and Gil stood up. "That's the pizza."

"My wallet's in my pants. There should be enough in there to cover it," Jim said looking at him with a little more calm after that outburst.

Gil got up and went to fetch the wallet. So. It was the slavery aspect of it that seemed to be setting him off. Maybe it wasn't about Companionship, but more about slavery. He could pry at that, carefully, while trying to emphasize that at least.... at least Gil was happy. Would be happy, if Jim gave him a chance. Let him be himself, and that included being a Companion. Gil pulled out a twenty, and opened the door.

He was feeling pretty hungry now. He hadn't eaten much because of nerves once he had been told Jim was coming for him and now things had been exhausting enough that he needed some food for fuel. He paid for the pizza and then considered that it might be a good way to get closer to Jim if he took it over to his bed and casually sat there to offer to share.

After all, Jim couldn't survive on booze alone. Even if he seemed determined to do just that. Gil stopped in the bathroom and grabbed tissues to use as napkins before he sat beside Jim on the bed, and put the pizza box between them. "You should eat."

"Alcohol has calories," Jim replied lazily, closing his eyes a moment. "But it smells good." He was looking at Gil again. "You know something? You're... really good looking." His lips twisted into a wry smile. "I remember you saying you weren't. When you were a kid?"

"Pretty," Gil agreed while he opened the box, and handed Jim a piece. "When you're a boy being raised with girls, by girls, it takes a while to realize that girls are supposed to be pretty, and that boys shouldn't try to sneak into their skirts or put ribbons in their hair. I think I'd worked out the different gender standards of 'good looking' by about ten." But what mattered was that Jim thought he looked good. Everyone else could go hang themselves.

Jim smiled at him, and he could recognize the faint looseness about him that was alcohol induced. "You were worried about your chin." He smiled at that. “But you had these blue eyes that I just couldn't forget. They look just the same. Heh."

"I thought it was a dent. I used to trip a lot when I was a kid and some other kid told me that I'd dented my chin, and I thought she was right." Gil grinned a little ruefully, while he picked up a slice of pizza for himself. He wasn't exactly the picture of grace and dignity that he was supposed to be, but he had a feeling that Jim wasn't going to be attending public functions with him and trying to use him to impress people.

Jim leaned over and stole a piece for himself. He nearly dropped it on his bare chest. "I remember that day. I was sure it was a waste of time. I couldn't work out how I could feel enough to be sure I was Choosing right. I seemed impossible. I was wrong though. I was so sure. So sure when I got home I gave up my birthday Porsche..." He took a bite. "That was before I knew what life was really like."

"And what is life really like?" Gil asked quietly, taking another bite so it didn't look like he was watching Jim as intently as he actually was. He wanted to know, because there had been a few shifts in the way that Jim had seen the world. And he'd gone missing for a while when Gil had been little, and no one had had any answers for Gil. His grades had just started to slip when Jim had started to write again, saying he'd been sick.

"It's full of people who get crazed with wanting power, and abusing it. It's full of people doing fucking terrible things just because they can. It's all about there being no choices." Jim wasn't looking at him when he spoke, but staring off somewhere into the middle distance. "You didn't want to be someone's second Choice, Gil. I don't want to be someone's no choice. There's nothing worse than that. Nothing."

Not having a choice. So somewhere something had happened and Jim hadn't had a choice. Gil shifted a little, as much as he could with the pizza box between them. "You aren't a no choice. You might not have noticed, Jim, but a lot of Companions don't actually like their Benefactors. We don't have to."

"You can be brainwashed into it, though," Jim answered even as he ate the slice of pizza slowly. "You've spent your life waiting for me and you've hardly met me. Known me. What if you had been leading a normal life? You could have fallen in love, out of it, done whatever. What if by choosing your education I robbed you of a talent you might have found. What if you could be the world's greatest pianist? Don't you get it? And yet you're pleased to see me. Want me to pick you up and all I can see if what you might have been if you had been allowed to find your own way."

"But I did find my own way. Trust me, I wouldn't have been the world's greatest pianist. For one thing, I can't carry a tune in a bucket, and I can hardly dance. Maybe I can spite you a little for the dance lessons. But I liked to get into things. I liked science and insects, and you know what I studied? Science and insects, and then I worked at a job that let me deal with both of them. It's fun. I like lifting fingerprints and recognizing what happened to a victim. I enjoy this." Gil picked a piece of pepperoni off the top, and ate it by itself.

"Has anyone ever asked you what you want?" Jim asked softly. "Really asked you and meant it?"

Gil took a long moment to finish off the crust of the first slice, throwing back his mind. "Sometimes. I'm not sure if you mean 'what I want' in a grand scheme, or a particular moment."

"Either," Jim shrugged. "We don't always get what we want but having the option is pretty much what it is all about. You didn't have someone at the college who you wanted to be with? You didn't see someone and think, yeah, I should be with them."

"No, I actually didn't." He'd always been a little apart from the rest of the students, always, and in the professional world he'd always been a little apart from them because they saw him as something exotic and strange. Which was funny because his fellow students thought he was nice enough, but boring.

Jim raised an eyebrow at him. "Really?" He ate the rest of the slice. "So I'm not a disappointment to you then?" It was said with almost a hint of challenge as if it was a test of some type.

"No, you're not." And while he was sure that Jim would take the no as either 'because nothing better has come along' or because Gil just didn't know any better, Gil could only be honest.

Jim laughed a little. "You don't have to lie," he said in a mutter. "I'm damn sure I'm not the ideal Benefactor you've built up in your mind."

Gil reached for another piece of pizza. "I'm not lying. I am getting a little pissed off that you seem unwilling to believe that I'm not a brainwashed puppet. I've gotten pretty far academically for someone who apparently can't think for themselves, and I'm starting to wonder why this obvious flaw hasn't hindered my investigative work."

That actually got more of a genuine smile than his agreeable answers. "Yeah. Yeah, well maybe I'm wrong. I've got experience at that. Quite a bit of it."

Hmm. So Jim liked it when he contradicted him, or got angry.

Was that proof for Jim that he was normal? "What I mean is that... if you hadn't chosen me, someone else would have. Maybe Todd would have chosen me. Or no one else would have. I would have been a completely different person than I am now, and there's no telling if it was for good or for bad. Or if I hadn't been born the bastard child of a Companion -- maybe my father would've been abusive and caved my skull in when I was four. You can't just take yourself out of the equation and assume everything would have been perfect or better." Gil chewed a couple of more bites of pizza, and sat back a little, leaning on one hand. "I like who I am. I'm comfortable with myself, and you made me as much as your experiences have made you." 

Jim paused on his way to bite at a piece of pizza. "I should probably be less drunk to really get what you just said. I guess... I guess that's okay then." He looked faintly puzzled, as if he wasn't sure how he'd been maneuvered into agreeing that.

"Okay. I'll be sure to repeat it to you when you're sober." Gil worked his way towards the crust for a moment, chewing and swallowing before he sat up a little more and started to unbutton his shirt.

He was conscious that Jim was watching him, even if he was eating his pizza. He wasn't good at feigning disinterest if he was even trying to and from his more unguarded tongue since they had reached the room, he didn't think he was. He slipped off his shirt and folded it neatly before putting it to one side.

"Mmm."

Gil wasn't sure if that was random appreciation of pepperoni or to do with him.

It emboldened him a little, made it easier for Gil not to sit down again yet, toeing off his shoes. He knew how to undress himself for show, but that wasn't exactly what he was doing. He was just gauging Jim's reactions, he told himself. It wasn't like he was good at undressing himself for show, and the girls had always teased him for standing like he was a cowboy. Besides, he had a feeling that Jim might just take that sort of deliberate move as some dire proof of his apparently brainwashed state.

Jim's reactions were definitely telling him that he was interested, very interested. Maybe once they had eased over this sensitive patch, Jim might appreciate the full show. Possibly with a cowboy hat and boots.

He smiled a little to himself at that and glanced up to see Jim staring at him as if he was witnessing some vision of beauty. It really was very strange.

"You can do more than look, if you want," Gil murmured, and then quickly corrected himself with he new awareness of a little of what made Jim tick. He unbuttoned his pants, and stepped out of them, bending to pick them up off of the floor. He had underwear on, but it was gray and didn't leave anything to the imagination. "If that interests you. It interests me, but it might be a little weird for your Companion to take advantage of you while you're drunk."

"Maybe it's a kink of mine," Jim replied reaching out towards him to touch Gil's skin.

It made him shiver in way he hadn't been expecting. He could see why the quick turn around for a presentation was needed, because a week now seemed like a very long time.

A very long time.

Except it didn't really matter for him, did it? It was really just ceremonial for him, because he'd been 'breached' and even if it had been before he was chosen, he wasn't sure how that counted. Lady Heather hadn't addressed it when she'd talked to him, probably because she didn't want to get him thinking on it again.

But Jim's hand sliding against his side was very nice, and Gil took a step towards him. He wanted to kiss him, and he wanted to touch him, and he just wanted. Wanted what he could get, as long as he didn't have to sit on the pizza box to get it.

Jim's hand had found its way into his own and was pulling him closer, and he was pushing himself up even as he pulled him down towards him. The sudden proximity exerted a pull between that that was disconcertingly like magnetism and Jim didn't seem to be fighting it now.

That was okay. A little... but Gil knew what to do, knew what he wanted to do more importantly. He had a free hand and that pushed the pizza box to the end of the bed, and then he could put a knee on the bed, bending so he could kiss Jim, hoping the other man would move back on the bed a little or something so they could get closer.

Jim moved enough to he could lean up, could kiss him and he did. Kissed him with the smoky taste of whiskey on his lips and there was a fire there that wasn't alcohol based. Jim kissed him like he was starving for human contact.

Maybe he was. Those scars had to come from somewhere, and they didn't look like line of police duty injuries. Someone somehow somewhere had taken Jim's choices from him and they'd left those scars. Gil let the kiss deepen, felt Jim's five o'clock shadow on his face when he turned his head so the friction was better, so he could open his mouth and taste the whiskey on Jim's tongue, the aftertaste of the pizza, slick muscle twisting against his own tongue.

He couldn't help it, he wanted this. It was the first unequivocal sign that Jim wanted him, really wanted him and that was a heady feeling. There was something more truthful about the way he kissed and the feel of his broad hands over his back, smoothing over bare skin. Jim wanted him. It hadn't been a lie, he had wanted him and this proved it.

Jim had problems, but he still wanted Gil, and that soothed down years of worry for Gil, pushed back the back of his mind concerns. Jim's hands roamed and Gil shifted, crouching over Jim while they kept kissing. He could do it forever, but when he shifted he had more proof that Jim wanted him, because Jim was hard. Somehow, despite all of that booze.

Needless to say he was, too. Hard as a rock like he always had been in Practicum but with the exciting thought that this was real. Very real. Wrong and breaking the rules but Jim looked like he broke rules that were irritating.

Jim was pulling him down on him so movement became a stimulant between them. The material of the boxers brushed against him and Jim was kissing hard enough to mark his neck as he moved everywhere that he could reach with his lips.

It made Gil shiver, made his fingers twitch and halt and start again because his hands settled on Jim's shoulders, kneading because it gave him the traction to press down against Jim, rubbing counterpoint to the pressure of the hands on his back because he wanted it as much as Jim did. He was going to have a hickey in the morning, and he was going to wear it like a badge of honor because Jim felt so damn good.

He wanted his briefs off now, yesterday.

For one horrible moment Jim hesitated as he put his hand on his hips at his waistband. No, this was not the time to come over with a rash of sticking to the rules. Gil headed that off with an insistent kiss that melted any form of resolve Jim might have come up with. Hands were tugging at his pants, pulling them down, and then at Jim's and ...there, hot flesh sliding against each other, suddenly.

That felt so much better than anything in Practicum. That was simulated sex, foreplay and teasing and practice on how to suck a dildo, and this was real, warm muscle and hot skin and Jim moving under him when Gil squirmed down a little and dropped his hips, pressed them hard against Jim's. Jim's pubic hair itched, and Gil was gong to fuck his stomach if he had to. "Fuck, I want..." He wanted a better position, a way to sneak his hand between them, but that meant moving.

Jim was already doing that for them. Not as coordinated as he could be, he wrapped his legs around Gil's and rolled them, and in a tumble of heat and limbs, there was weight on him, a wonderful weight and some uncoordinated fumbling later there was a sudden grip on his cock, firm and tight.

Gil was really glad he'd moved the pizza box. He'd probably be more glad later, because there was a hand on his dick that wasn't his hand, and it felt good. It felt better than Gil had words for, shivering, grinding up against Jim good, tilting his head a little so he could kiss at the junction of Jim's neck and shoulder, trying to give back as good as he'd gotten.

"No.... fucking... lube..." he thought he heard Jim mumble in between kisses even as that hand pumped hard on him and Jim's cock rubbed against him. That seemed to be the only think holding him back from going even further.

They could rectify that. If he thought Jim would be awake long enough, he'd go out and find a place to buy it and then come back. Except Gil didn't want to stop moving and he was almost there. He sucked at Jim's neck, and then bit a little before he kissed Jim's mouth again. Almost there, he was almost there and he should have been making sure that Jim was almost there, but fuck it felt good and he was going to come all over Jim's hand and his stomach and Jim's dick.

That was sort of lube, in a way, but not the most useful.

"Yeah... yeah, come for me, Gil..." Jim was murmuring, his fingers doing unbelievable things as they slid up and down, and smoothed over the head of his cock and made him want more than anything to thrust hard against any resistance that was there. Hard, fast, slick and hot, sex down to the bare essentials and maybe that's where he needed to start.

Normal and simple and good. Gil drew one leg up, pressed it against Jim's side, and used that for the leverage he needed for another good thrust, and the smaller jolting thrusts while he finally came. It felt good, starts and spurts of oblivion that made his muscles go tense and shaky.

It carried on feeling good even when he felt Jim use the slickness there between them to make his own movement smooth and hot against him before a surprising heat came again between them both and Jim panted a little before easing down and tipping them on their side, still entwined. "Fuck me. Probably broken a ton of rules eh?"

"Pretty sure the only rule is not to take my virginity," Gil murmured, shifting a little to kiss Jim's mouth because he liked the sensation. "And look, that's not possible. No rules broken. That felt great."

Jim smiled and it was a real smile, just for him. "Yeah, it did, didn't it? You're just so... so much. So... everything." He kissed him again. "Think we should take a quick trip to the shower? Together?"

It hurt for his dick to twinge like that at him, and Gil nodded. "Yeah. This is the second shower of the night. We should be squeaking by the time we get to bed."

"Just a rinse," Jim promised shifting to get up. He was still smiling, still looking at him that way as if he'd crashed some sort of barrier. Lady Heather hadn't been wrong about the power of sex in a relationship. And it worked both ways.

"Just a rinse," Gil echoed, but he let something of a smirk twist his mouth as he looked up at Jim. It wasn't going to be sunshine and roses, but very little in life actually was. He was determined to make it work.

Gil was determined to be Jim's Companion.

* * *

Jim had slept strangely. His body still roused him with nightmares, but there had been a warmth next to him that had made it easier for him to slip back to sleep. He woke with a hint of a hangover, which was about usual, and a complete amazement at himself.

So much for will power. So much for all these ideals and his insistence that he wasn't going to have a Companion. He knew now why he had just stayed away -- it was pretty much because he just wasn't able to say no if someone even appeared to like him.

Hardly anyone did. Janice had, and then things ran lukewarm to cold. There had been others but... drinking was a bad idea around temptation. And Gil was most certainly a temptation. It was sheer luck that not having lube had stopped him going any further. He would have. He knew he would and he berated himself for it.

Gil on the other hand seemed very happy with it all, enough so that he began to doubt his own conviction that taking a Companion was just like taking a slave. The way things were going, it was more like Gil working him around to what he wanted. That was okay in a way. That he could respect and feel happy with.

People like Todd -- now they deserved to be taken down. He'd called Annie and she'd been at first astounded and then pleased to hear from him, and they'd arranged to meet for dinner. And there they were. Benefactor and Companion to be and already he could see the interested looks finding him as he introduced Gil to Annie and took his seat himself.

"This is Gil, Annie. My soon to be Companion." It didn't sound so strange any more.

And maybe it wasn't so strange anymore because he was getting a lot of hints that Gil was very firm about what he thought. There was the half-memory of Gil having told him something very sharp and witty and convincing, except that ironically, Jim couldn't remember what it was anymore. Gil would probably remember, just like Gil had been the driving force of what had happened the night before.

Gil had dressed up again, but watching him pick his clothes out had shown to Jim that he did own normal clothes, probably for the job. Jeans with worn out knees and polo shirts and t-shirts. One from the yearly police force desert marathon they held in Vegas, and Jim wondered if Gil had gone or if one of his coworkers had just given him a shirt. He had a body like a guy who ran, not lean and long, but solid. He could handle endurance running, probably.

"So this... is Gil." Annie was gorgeous as she'd ever been, and she was smiling when she reached to shake Gil's hand. "Nice to meet you. His ex-wife used to bitch about you, so I know of you."

"Janice used to bitch about everyone indiscriminately," Jim said as he sat down. "So I wouldn't be worried about that Gil. You're looking good, Annie. Never thought I'd see you out of Jersey."

"I never thought I'd see you out of Jersey, but then one day you just packed up and left." She sat down, and scooted her chair in a little before she added, "Not that I can blame you. After you cleaned up Mike and his crew, and after the divorce."

Jim shrugged. "Kinda hard to stick around after tearing the place apart. People get a little unsettled, a little testy when they think there's a sellout hanging around."

And Jim had always known that not getting on in a closed society usually meant people ended up dead. Back-up a little slow in attending an emergency call out. Victim of 'friendly fire'. That sort of thing. He needed to trust them to watch his back, and he couldn't trust them because they didn't trust him anymore, so. So it had seemed obvious.

"Yeah. What're you doing now? I'm still working my way up the ranks. We've got some good people here in L.A., and..." And she peered at Gil. "Wait. Wait. You're the cute tech in the county crime lab." She started to laugh, and Gil's cheeks colored a little, an odd smile curling his lips. "Oh, god, Jimmy! I can't believe this, this is great. He usually does everything short of putting dirt on his face not to get noticed. A few of the other women cops love it when they send him out."

Jim looked at Gil with a half smile. "I bet they do. And you would as well, Annie, if you had a chance. But Gil has been my Companion in training for somewhere around fifteen years..."

Gil probably knew to the day and here he was feeling like a bit of a hypocrite considering the way he had behaved the day before. But he couldn't deny a spark of jealousy at the thought other people were interested. "Trust me on this, Gil is going to wipe the floor with Vegas when I find him something in there. I'm in CSI up there now. Working my way up as well."

"CSI, too, huh? Damn, Jimmy." Annie grinned again, shaking her head at him. "You wanted clean, and that's as clean as it gets, doesn't it? CSI. That's a switch up."

"You don't picture me as the science type?" Jim teased back a little. "I thought I had the touch for it."

It was what was there at the time. An opening far enough away in a city where no one cared what his history was or where he had come from.

"Investigating, sure. Science..." Annie laughed again, and brushed a pretty strand of hair back from her face. Yeah, she hadn't aged at all since he'd last seen her, and he'd probably added on a decade in three years. "Not so much, Jimmy. I'm glad you found something better than Jersey."

"You want a break sometime, you come up and visit us in Vegas," Jim replied expansively. "I'll show you how to lose your money." He picked up a menu glancing at it swiftly even as he spoke. "So why did you leave? I thought you were far enough away from the action to get away with it."

Gil leaned over, and was looking at the menu over his shoulder. He hadn't said a word, now that Jim thought about it, but he did get quiet sometimes. Jim would figure it out as they went.

"Well, I wasn't far away enough. After you left, all eyes turned to me and a couple of the others. Michael's moved on to New York, and he really likes it up there, and Brett's up in Michigan. It was easier to transfer out than stick it out. You know?"

"Yeah. Yeah I know. I'm sorry, Annie. I never wanted to take anyone else down with me. Not on our side," Jim said with more than a hint of regret. "Now our team is scattered everywhere."

Michael and Brett had helped out on a couple of the times Mike and his crew had hit back at him. It had gotten way too messy, too quickly and he was still trying to hold on to evidence.

"Yeah, it will. There's a new chief of police, and it's easier when the crackdown comes from above. I think things are going to work out there." She smiled at him. "How's Vegas treating you?"

"Pretty good. I managed to pull myself up to a CSI 3 since I got there." Just. About a week before he'd pulled in the right amount of cases closed and he had the promotion. But then he had been a workaholic and a half.

Maybe he could ease back a little. Hell, maybe Gil would start swooping in on cases, because he was so qualified for the job it wasn't funny. If there was an opening. He wasn't exactly comfortable with the idea of Gil in an FBI lab. "Yeah?" Annie was still smiling and she meant it. "That's amazing. You've only been there three years?"

"A little under, yeah," Jim nodded as the waiter came over to take their order.

"And it's in a top lab. That means more than if you were climbing the ranks that fast back home." Back home it would've meant that he knew the right people, but even if there were incompetent people in the lab, they didn't run the place. They got fired or kicked in the ass as necessary, and Jim liked that.

Vegas was a clean lab.

The waiter broke into their conversation, tried to sell them the specials of the day. Annie ordered steak and something that sounded fancy, Gil went for pasta with coke to drink. Jim went for steak as well, all the trimming and he held back from drinking this early. They were going to be driving back to Vegas later and he'd get a bottle of something somewhere and see if it would get him through the night without the nightmares. He was pretty sure Gil had slept through them, which was good.

"Look, Annie, I've gotta admit, I'm mixing a bit of business with pleasure. I met this guy, Todd, a DA and he gave me your number here," Jim said after their drinks had been brought over. He was half hoping his juice was concealing vodka but they had give it to him plain and simple. "Only there's something I could do with you looking at with regards to him. How well do you know him?"

"Todd Piccone?" Annie tilted her head. "He's a Benefactor, and I think his Companion is... Sara? Sasha? Something. He's a good DA. Why?"

Jim nodded a little. "You have many cold cases on child abuse of young boys?" He asked casually as if it were unrelated.

"A few. This is LA, Jim." Annie was smart, though, and she caught on quick. "What's this about?"

"Jim, I'm uh, going to go find the restroom," Gil said suddenly. Either he was sick, or he just didn't want to be there.

That was fair enough. Jim nodded and watched as Gil excused himself and then leant forward before speaking in a low voice. "Look, Annie, when I went to Choose my Companion when I was sixteen, I found Gil hiding in a cloakroom because he was one of a few that had been molested by another Benefactor candidate the previous year. Do I need to spell out who that was? Because Companions have no rights at that point in time because they have no legal identity, no charges could be brought and I'm pretty sure that he thought no one would Choose damaged goods. And then I came along and ruined that plan. But you and I both know that type of sexual predator. If he molested a kid of four or five when he was sixteen.... well."

It wasn't like someone suddenly lost their taste in little kids if they were sick like that from the start. "Then he's probably still doing it." Her expression shifted a little, a look like she had a headache. "Jesus, Jim. Okay. I'm uh… Is there any way I can get a record of that? I know it wouldn't be permissible in court, but if I do start poking around, proof of previous incidents would put a case a lot further ahead. If you're right."

"You go to Lady Heather at the Companion College. She'll provide you with documentation. I've got copies of what was done to Gil, but... there were two others as well," Jim replied. "At least before they worked it out and then they locked down tight, put in new procedures. I'm thinking that pushed him out onto the wide world. There you can get prosecuted for it so you might find that interest in the law had a practical basis. Gil remembers him now. His current Companion hates his guts and Gil made some comment about how he might injure her to keep her from leaving after they marry. Somehow I don't think he was joking. I'd follow it up but they'd think I had a revenge agenda, which truthfully? I do. "

"Yeah, well." Annie shook her head a little. "Lady Heather at the College here, huh? I'll look into it and see what I come up with. And your Companion..." Annie looked off in the direction he'd headed. "He's a good kid. I wouldn't think that anything like that had happened to him."

"I'll be frank, Annie, I'm not dealing with the fact I've got a Companion too well in a concept way. I'm not really big on concept stuff, but I feel uncomfortable with having what amounts to a slave but Gil..." Jim shook his head. "I don't stand a chance, I really don't. I stayed away so long because I knew I couldn't hold back when I got to know him again and I can't. He's incredibly bright, he's got a quirky sense of humor and he independent enough to put up with my own brand of shit. He'd pulled through what happened, but last night, he was shaking like a leaf and white as a sheet when he saw him."

"Who wouldn't be?" She took a sip from her beer, and sat back. "That'd be like having the boogie man of your nightmares come up to you in real life to say hi. That'd shake anyone. So taking him back to Vegas with you is probably a good idea. Because Todd's going to fight this..."

"Yeah, and I wish I could fight it right back. But, no proof... well no proof that counts in a court of Law on record, I'm just giving you a heads up, I guess." Jim said and looked up at her. "You know I'd be in on this if I could. You know I'd do worse if I could, which is why I'm passing this to you. I don't think I trust myself not to lose it."

Because Gil was his, property, yeah, but he wanted to protect him, too, and that was something left over from before he'd been able to protect it, something that everyone else was just nonchalant about. He had a feeling that the other Companions and teachers had glossed over it, and the only thing he could be sure of was that Gil was still uneasy about the guy.

"Yeah, you always did have a little bit of a temper when it came to certain things."

Jim laughed a little. "Yeah, I keep telling Gil I'm a bastard but he doesn't believe me. Maybe you should tell him when he gets back." Annie would deal with it. She'd look and if there was anything to be found, she'd find it. That's why he was willing to trust that to her, something that was that important to him. Really important for all their relationship was a day old. Sixteen years and a day maybe.

"Bastard? Nah, I save that for the big times. You're kinda bitchy, though, Jimmy. Just sometimes. And you probably still drink too much." She gave the juice a glance, like she was trying to elicit an answer from him.

"Yeah, I still do." Jim had to agree with that. He never denied it. "I just work more so I have less time to drink."

At least in Vegas where the temptation to drink was easy when they brought you free drinks as long as you gambled and kept the prices down because people bet heavy when they'd had a few. "I haven't become miraculously less screwed up since I last saw you Annie."

"I wasn't really expecting you to." Some motion caught her attention, and she turned her head. "Oh, Gil's coming back. And so's our food."

"Good," he glanced over his shoulder to watch Gil walk back in. He still looked fantastic and his libido clamored that having a Companion was a very good thing. Definitely. Time to change the subject a bit. "You seeing anyone Annie? Weren't you getting serious with Mark when I last saw you?"

After they had sworn off of seeing each other because Jim was worried, too worried they would come after her as well like they had after him. He'd always wondered, right up to the end why all his attempts to protect Janice and Ellie weren't necessary. He found out around the time he tumbled to the whole deal and his partner and best friend's role in it.

"Yeah. It didn't work out, and... well, there're a few people out here who interest me. Mostly, I've been working on making friends again before I start to make enemies." She winked at him, and smiled at Gil while he moved behind Jim to sit in his chair again.

"Sorry about that.”

"That's okay Gil. Annie and I were just catching up," Jim sipped at his orange juice and it was incredibly bland. "She was always the one who made the friends. I did the enemies better."

"Why's that?" Gil scooted his chair in, and eyed his plate for a moment like he wasn't really hungry anymore. But he started to unroll his napkin. Annie was watching Gil like he was fascinating, and Gil seemed oblivious to it.

"Because he likes to put the shoulder with the chip on it first."

"That chip's got some weight behind it," Jim contributed. "It ought to after all these years."

He wanted to ask what was wrong, but he knew that might embarrass Gil so he slipped a hand out of sight and patted him reassuringly on the leg. He hoped that would help.

Jim didn't really expect for Gil to shift his leg and lean his knee against Jim's.

"You keep stacking stuff on top of it, you'll be right. You know, Gil, when he wants to be, Jim can be a pretty funny, fun guy. He's just had a bad..." Annie smirked a little. "Decade?"

"Yeah, thanks, Annie," Jim mock growled and smirked right back at her and then reclaimed his hand to start on his steak. He ended up waving a bit at her. "I can still be a fun guy. I'll prove it. Gil, when we go back to Vegas we'll... uh... well go to one of the amusement parks."

'Could we?" Gil perked up a little, and he was still pressing his leg against Jim's underneath of the table. "I love roller coasters."

"You want to ride roller coasters, we'll ride them," Jim said firmly. "See? I can do fun." Gil seemed a little upset. Maybe it was just thinking about what they were talking about. He'd have to make sure he understood Annie would do everything she could.

"He can also do throwing up if he gets dizzy," Annie grinned slyly at him. "And are you really ready for that, Gil?"

"Sure. There are some roller coasters that don't do the traditional up and down, which is usually what makes people sick."

"Annie, you're ruining my image here," Jim mock growled at her. "Aren't you the one that doesn't like heights?" He was pleased Gil was talking a little more. His silence worried him.

"Oh, no argument there. But I'm not volunteering myself for roller coasters because I know I'd have to be blindfolded to even get on one." She was cutting up her steak, and starting to eat.

"Well if only I'd know that," Jim said instinctively flirting back. He ate some of his own dinner, smiling a little. "Just as well... whatshername… Deborah, that friend of yours from Vice isn't around. Gil has a pet that would send her screaming. A tarantula, right, Gil?"

"Red Baboon," Gil agreed, eating a little of his pasta. He was picking at it, but finally starting to eat. 

"That's right. You're the bug guy." Annie grinned a little. "God. I still can't believe that the crime lab's knight in dirty baseball cap is your Companion."

"Why do I get the feeling I need to hear some more about this crime lab's knight huh?" Jim said looking at them both. "What's the deal huh?"

Gil looked down, and cleared his throat a little. "Uh..."

"He's being modest. Last year he was on a scene with one of our senior CSIs, and there was still a suspect on the grounds. One of our cops fucked up and didn't clear the scene. The suspect pulled a gun on the CSI field officer, and Gil there talked the man down like it wasn't anything."

"She's exaggerating a little," Gil cut in, turning his head to look at Jim. "I wasn't in any danger, just, uh..."

"...They pulled a gun on you?" Jim found rational thought seeping out of his ears. "I thought you weren't meant to be in any danger on that placement?" It was on thing for a CSI to be in that position, they had guns, they could fire back. Gil had nothing.

"No, the man pulled a gun on Philip. That's different." Gil seemed to realize the insanity of what he was suggesting, and waved his fork a little before he ate the pasta off of it. "I had a gun, and I know how to fire if I had to. You had me taught that, remember?"

God, yeah, he had hadn't he? It had caused a right uproar at the time. "I'd forgotten that," Jim admitted. It'd been after he'd come back from his Duty and he had felt the need that Gil should be able to fight back, to protect himself with such intensity he would have gotten him an illegal weapon if necessary. "You talked him down though?"

"Yeah. He'd killed his wife by accident, and I managed to convince him that it was better to turn himself in than it was to... kill someone else." Gil leaned a little, twisted in his chair so he could look at both Jim and Annie. "They decided to take me on full time after that."

"As if we didn't already consider him the day shift's mascot before then.”

"Sorry, Annie, I'm stealing him away from all you guys," Jim said and it was the first time that he actually realized what taking Gil away to Vegas might be having. Gil had made a difference here, and here he was just swanning in, picking him up and taking him away. He hadn't even thought that Gil might want to stay here. That other people would want him to stay here. So much for all his conscience ridden introspection. It just went to prove he didn't deal with that very well.

The conscience riddled introspection or the Companion thing.

Annie grinned a little, and lifted her eyebrows at Gil. "No, I think it's okay. After all, Vegas is one of the best labs in the country and they could use the best, right?"

"I've been looking forwards to Going Home with Jim. Vegas is a plus point to that," Gil murmured as he put his glass down.

"Vegas could use someone like you Gil. Don't worry, I'll find something you'll be interested in when we get there," Jim replied eating some more. He was glad that he'd had Gil shown how to drive now. Maybe he could get something in CSI for him. Catherine would be crazy to turn Gil down with that sort of resume. "It's a whole different ball game there -- so many people passing through, so many homicides. I thought Jersey City was bad, but Vegas has it beat on bizarre homicides.

"Well, nothing like gambling and people on vacation to make for some interesting deaths," Annie guessed. "We get wild shit, but we get a lot of gang stuff, too."

"L.A.? Come on there's got to be movie star call outs," Jim said. "Been to anyone famous?" He asked them both considering they had both been working the area.

Gil shook his head. "They don't let low levels do the 'career cases'."

"A few. Mostly for robberies, and nothing fun and salacious." Annie ate a few of her vegetables. "Mostly, we get a lot of cases with people who wanted to be and never became anything. They show up with stars in their eyes, can't make rent, start to turn tricks."

"Yeah, I can believe that. Dreams can become nightmares pretty quick," Jim said concentrating on his food for a moment.

What was he going to say to Gil about his nightmares? Or should he just try taking those damned sleeping pills again that made him feel drugged and hung over even when he wasn't. Maybe he could just avoid the subject.

If it came up, then it came up. And he'd explain it however he could then.

* * *

Everything was turning out both good and bad for him at the same time.

Gil figured that it was par for the course that his life went that way, that there was bad to outweigh every good, or... good to outweigh every bad. Gil wasn't sure what came first. It was one or the other. He was essentially, like Jim had said, a slave. But he was happy with his position, and he was happy with Jim. Jim was a mess of things, and from talking with Annie and listening to them talk, he could work out that it had something to do with his Benefactor duty and to do with back in New Jersey.

Jim had let him drive for part of the highway, when it was just following the road and there wasn't any chance of Gil getting lost. He liked Jim's car, the smooth handling of it, much better than the CCCC registered vehicle he usually drove.

It was a long drive to Vegas and they didn't get there until the evening when the lights were blazing and the streets were humming with activity. Jim headed out of the strip a little and finally pulled up outside a small house. An actual house, not an apartment like he was expecting. Jim had shrugged and said something about money from a Duty payoff and the fact that there had been requirement that he have enough room to support his Companion when he purchased property in Vegas.

It was a big place for one person, and it didn't look like it was in the best of condition. Jim had agreed with that too. Said he'd got it as a bargain and he'd been doing a bit at a time. When he had time.

They went inside and it was unmistakably a single man's home. Even though it looked like someone had made an effort, the place was still untidy. The TV was top of the line, and the couch looked like it had been dragged from a dump. 

Gil was used to the clean, almost lush furnishings of the College, and it was going to take time to get used to it. Or he could help out once he got a job himself, and Jim would appreciate that, wouldn't he? If Gil maybe replaced the sofa and helped with some of the cleaning up the house needed. Fixing up.

"I'll get the rest of my stuff." The stuff that was in the car, at least. Lady Heather was going to have the rest sent up to him.

Jim looked around. "I'd... uh... I'd fixed you up in one of the rooms downstairs. Put a bed in there. But..." He cleared his throat. "You can put your stuff wherever you want. There's quite a few rooms I haven't used properly. It really is kind of big for one."

Gil set his duffle and Lola's case down on the sofa. "Would you mind if maybe I kept my books and Lola in that room, then?"

Jim looked at him even as he was heading off towards somewhere that was obviously the kitchen. "Gil, I'm going to say this once. This place is your home, and in my head it belongs to you as much as it does to me. If you want to put them there, then do. If you want to clear out any of the other rooms, then we'll do that. I was going to use my vacation time this year to try and get a few things done anyway. Took me a while to deal with some dry rot, and it needs some painting and I need to get a few things. You know how it is... I kept putting it off. Next thing I know, you're here."

Gil followed after him a little. His home. He'd like it if it were his home, and Jim's, but he also preferred to work his way into Jim's life before he started to get too comfortable. "Now that I'm here, I can at least help you paint."

"Yeah, might actually get it done. I've bought most of it but then... something crops up and I never get to doing it," Jim put on the coffee machine and reached for the fridge. There was way too much beer in there. It didn't stop him taking a can and cracking it open with a practiced move. "So, I guess we get to do it together."

"We do," Gil said insistently. "I'll be back in a minute. I'm going to bring the rest of my stuff in, and..." And Jim couldn't be drunk by the time he got back. A couple of trips from the car and back into the house wouldn't take Gil more than five minutes.

"I'll just uh... I left my bedroom. Well, I'll just pull it together a bit," Jim replied. "Like it is you'd break your neck getting in there." He smiled a half grin at him and swigged back on the beer. "Upstairs, first right."

"Got it." Gil turned to head back to the door then. Once he'd ducked outside he could gain a better appreciation of the area. It was cold outside, desert temperature drop cold, and the neighborhood was quiet. Not the best of areas but definitely not the worst. And if Jim had a week off, then he and Jim could spend a week fixing things up. Get used to each other before the ceremony, and maybe get used to a little more, a little sex, but Gil was just being hopeful. He grabbed three bags, and eyed the last one before he tried to grab the handle on that one, too. Gil had to close the car door with his hip, but it worked, and he got them all into the house in one trip.

When he found his way into what was originally going to be his room, he was surprised. It was freshly decorated, clean, brand new and spacious. There was new furniture, a brand new computer from the looks of it and still the faint smell of fresh paint. Here, Jim had made an effort. It seemed strange and a little sad somehow. He could do this for Gil, but not for himself.

He needed to start making that kind of effort to himself, too, and if he couldn't or wouldn't, then Gil would start to make the effort for him. He set most of his things in there, and that way he could still give Jim the space he needed while sharing his bed. It seemed like a sensible arrangement. Jim was used to having his whole bedroom to himself.

He could hear some thumping and stomping around going on upstairs -- Jim was obviously taking things seriously with his cleaning and he half wanted to say to him that it wasn't necessary. Not for him. The kitchen looked... lived in, there was a downstairs bathroom as well. He had a quick look around just to give Jim a little time.

Nothing that told him too much about his Benefactor, actually. It was like Jim lived there but he wasn't himself there. There were supposed to be clues in a person's house. Lady Heather had told him that, except there was attention to electronics and beer and worn out furniture and carpet that probably needed to be replaced. Gil started up the stairs after a moment more of poking around, walking slowly.

He wasn't sure what that said apart from the fact that Jim barely seemed to actually 'live' in his house. He might spend time there but living was another matter. On the other hand, maybe there were more personal things in his bedroom. Gil listened to the muffled swearing and a few odd thumps and wondered if there was going to be anything left in that bedroom at all by the time he got in there.

The door was ajar and Jim appeared to be in the process of trying to put clean sheets on the bed as there was a bundle of crumpled bed linen on the floor.

Gil couldn't help peering into the door, curiosity pulling at him when his better sense told him to back up and pretend he hadn't caught his Benefactor doing... whatever. Trying to tidy up the bed. Gil leaned a hand on the doorknob, and smiled as he leaned in a little more. "Hi. Can I help?"

"I dunno, can you? I need someone able to wrestle a duvet cover into submission," Jim said dryly. "Should've changed it before I left but... thought it was only me going to be in it."

Jim's room was a bit cluttered, although less so than it had been. Gil saw signs that laundry had been hastily thrown in a basket, and papers in a bin. There still wasn't that much around, although there was an interesting array of oriental hangings that didn't fit with his knowledge of him at all.

Gil shrugged a little as he walked into the room, reaching for the other side of the cover to see if two of them could get it done better than one. "One of the CSIs back in LA changed her sheets every night, because she hated what she'd see if she used an ALS on them.”

"Yeah well, not a lot of problem with that," Jim replied. "I pulled a few doubles before I came down. I was literally coming in, crashing out, getting up going to work and fitting in sorting out your room while I was eating breakfast. I'll understand if you want to sleep down there. Hell, even I'm tempted."

"We could," Gil suggested, even while he pulled at the duvet. "And make this the next fix-up project? You did a... really nice job down there. It's nice. You didn't have to."

Jim gave a half smile. "Yeah well, I may be an asshole sometimes but I didn't think you deserved to have the benefit of my many years of experience without somewhere nice to hide out. It won't take that long to clear this out, but we could sleep down there if we redo in here. It could probably use it. I haven't done anything to it."

Ever was the implication. Gil nodded, just trying to back up that observation in a gentle way. "You have a few more days off until you have to go back to work. If we get started on the jobs you know need to be done around here, I can keep working at them until I find an opening somewhere." Probably finish them before he found an opening somewhere.

"Well that would be great, because I just don't get round to it." They pulled the covers straight and Jim picked up and took another swig from his beer. "I'll just throw the rest of it in the laundry. I guess we need to think about practical stuff like maybe moving that wardrobe upstairs. You might hate my taste in decorating as well. Catherine says I don't have style."

"That's okay. I don't have style, either." Gil itched to take the beer from him, but he wasn't going to. He bent down and tucked the covers in -- practical things like that he knew how to do, for the purpose of taking care of his Benefactor. "Who's Catherine?"

"Someone I think you'll like. Supervisor of Night Shift, used to be a stripper and put herself through college to train as a CSI and worked her way up," Jim grinned. "We get on pretty well because we're both down and dirty CSI's -- you know, seen a bit of real life, know the way the world works. She's got a sharp sense of humor too which is always good in a boss."

That he'd like her implied that he was going to end up meeting her. Gil grinned a little, too, and then straightened up, watching Jim's grin. "That's good to know." And there they were, in Jim's bedroom. Unsupervised, a thought which amused Gil, and Jim had all of the comforts of home. One slightly messy made bed, beer, and now a Companion.

"You know, I've still got stuff in boxes in the spare room?" Jim shook his head at himself. "I guess this gives me a kick in the rear to get organized at least."

"Or I could be an enabler and add to the boxes in your spare room. Lady Heather was going to have the things I didn't have time to pack mailed up here." He could only imagine all of those books in transit. "I, uh, have a lot of books," he admitted sheepishly.

Jim shrugged. "We should probably convert a room into a study or something." He didn't seem bothered at all by the intrusion into his space. Gil was beginning to wonder if that was he wasn't really feeling it as his space.

"Are you going to put things in it?" Gil asked, taking a step towards Jim. Maybe he could wrestle that beer from his hands yet. 

"Yeah, I've got a load of books I could put out. I usually end up borrowing the lab copy when I need it," Jim replied looking up at him. "Which is stupid when I went to the trouble of buying it."

That made Gil tilt his head a little, and he made the careful move to take the beer from Jim's fingers. "Then we'll put together a study. You should actually start living in your own house, Jim."

Jim shrugged. "Yeah. Things... got in the way." He went quiet then, walking abruptly over to the laundry hamper and pushing an armful in.

Gil could guess. Drinking from the looks of it. Work. He could say Jim had an addictive personality the way he threw himself into those two activities.

"I can understand that," Gil murmured, setting the beer down on the nearest flat surface. He'd been tempted to take a sip, but he didn't really want to. "We don't have to start cleaning things up tonight. It's late, so..."

Jim smiled. "So you want to go to bed right?" He looked at him. "Feeling tired from traveling?"

"Yes and no." It was a slyly spoken line worthy of someone else. Someone who wasn't him, but Gil used it all the same, trying not to let his mind dwell on the little things that were starting to gather in his mind. "I'm ready for bed, but not too tired..." Muzzy, a little sleepy, but Jim was nightshift. He needed to get on those hours himself.

"Aren't I meant to be getting to know you and establishing boundaries or something?" Jim asked looking after where he had taken his beer and put it down, but ending up being distracted by Gil's proximity.

Maybe he could seduce Jim away from incipient alcoholism.

”Do you want to establish boundaries?" Gil asked, taking another step closer to him. There was only a foot of space between them.

"Well in theory," Jim murmured. "But I've always been a bit of a non-boundary guy." He stepped and had his arms around Gil in one movement. "I'm seeing a lack of boundaries here."

"Yeah, I am, too." Jim's tone and approach was appealing to Gil, a little bit off the cuff. He slid his hands down, but didn't move his head yet. He just kept looking at Jim. "I'm okay with that."

"You know, I'm thinking I'm breaking rules here. Didn't I say that back in L.A. as well or was I too drunk?" Jim murmured as his hand slid up to cup around the nape of his neck.

"You said it then. And I told you, in case you were too drunk," Gil murmured, tilting his head backwards a little to lean into that hand. "We can do, without breaking any rules, everything up to penetration. To supposedly preserve the virginity that I don't have, so I think it's a stupid rule."

"Semantics huh?" Jim grinned. "Want to see how far we can stretch the rules before we break them?" Fingers were in his hair stroking and Jim was smiling, really smiling not the cynical twist he usually used. When he smiled like that he looked handsome. "Hey is that penetration on you... or on me?"

He hadn't expected that. It was pretty well accepted that Companions were on the bottom, servicing and not... anything else. Gil had to blink for a moment to concentrate, and he quirked an eyebrow at Jim. "Me, I think."

"Well, there's something to be thinking about," Jim replied. "That surprised you huh? They didn't teach you about that in your Practicum?"

He seemed to like the thought that there was something he could teach him.

And maybe that was something all on its own. Gil shifted, fingers resting on the waistband of Jim's jeans. "No, not really. It was mentioned in passing, but, uh. Not very easy to teach that hands on."

"So what did they teach you?" Jim asked him as his other hand smoothed over his ass gently. "I'd be interested to know."

"Honestly? Everything from how to suck you to all kinds of kinky derivations. If you wanted to tie me up, I could tell you how to properly tie knots," Gil drawled. "It doesn't help that I've had a lot of time to think about it."

Jim didn't look quite so taken with that idea. "Maybe some other time on that one. But what has your overactive imagination come up with while I've kept you waiting?"

That hand was stroking him with deliberate languorous strokes.

"I thought you wanted to get around to fixing this place up before your vacation was over. It might take me that long to talk everything out." He liked the feel of fingers stroking his ass, but in the end it was simplistic. "Being with you, every way possible. Every conceivable way."

"Every conceivable way?" Jim asked, raising an eyebrow and smirking a little. "What even the thing with the chandelier?"

"I'm kind of anti falling glass. So no chandeliers," Gil murmured. He was supposed to be teasing Jim, but it wasn't working. It wasn't, he was getting teased instead and even sliding his fingers beneath Jim's waistband wasn't helping him. He leaned in to kiss him, knowing everything would go downhill from there, or for a little relief. Gil didn't care what it was.

It was quite flattering the way kissing him seemed to ignite Jim's need for him so thoroughly. "Show me one of those... ways," Jim murmured kissing him again. "Show me what a Companion fantasizes about."

Jim wouldn't get it, but Gil did. Gil liked the feeling of lips on his and he liked, wanted to service Jim. He wanted to show him what he'd spent so many embarrassing Practicums learning, what he'd had to push through numerous freak outs to get to. He wasn't going to freak out, because he could trust Jim, and he had just the night before. 

"Mm, say stop if there's something you don't like." Gil leaned back a little, and started to unbutton Jim's shirt.

"I think I can grin and bear it," Jim promised and he allowed Gil free rein even as he now and then darted in to kiss him.

Gil liked that, constant touching novel enough that he was almost basking in it by the time he got Jim's shirt off and onto the floor. He shifted then, inched back a little and then knelt in front of Jim, fingers unbuckling his belt while he leaned in to nuzzle against the front of Jim's pants for added distraction.

"You want me to stand for this?" Jim asked in a rough voice. "Or you want to make it to the bed."

The belt slid free with only a little encouragement, and Jim's fingers were in his hair, stroking through slowly.

"Stand," Gil murmured, fingers moving up to unzip his zipper. Some of them preferred to do it with their teeth, but Gil liked his teeth white and unchipped, and it was a little humiliating. Gil slid the zipper down, and then pushed his hands inside to push down Jim's jeans.

Jim was more than happy with hands, the hardness inside his pants testified to that. "Fuck, yeah... I'll stand if you touch me like that..." he murmured aloud.

Gil took his time pushing down Jim's underwear, and smiled to himself when Jim's dick caught on his underwear a little. But then everything was bunched down around Jim's knees and Gil realized that he was glad he had a dick of his own, because if he was a girl, he would have been more than a little stressed. Practice had nothing on the real thing, and Gil at least had his dick and his hand for experience. Except he was shaved and perfectly groomed, and there was hair for him to thread one hand for as he smiled to himself before leaning in. It was easy to press his mouth against the underside, sucking gently.

"Oh... god..." Jim groaned and the fingers clutched a little in his hair. "Practicum lessons must have been the best... Jesus!"

He smiled, and then lifted his head a little to slide his lips over the flared head. He was going to keep one hand on Jim's balls so he could stop before Jim finished, so he could keep a sense of how things were going.

"I'm... gonna find out who your teacher was and send them... flowers... uhnn..." Jim tensed a little. "What is it about you that makes me so hard? All the damn time?"

Gil didn't know, but it was the same thing that had him worked up. It was probably ownership, but Jim was uncomfortable with that and Gil didn't want to stop sucking to say anything. Later, he'd tell Jim that Lady Heather liked orchids.

Later. For now, he was content to suck and work on taking Jim in, tasting him a little, the tang of precum that wasn't anything that they officially ran into in their lives. He started to rub at Jim's balls, and with his free hand, slipped a finger into his mouth along with Jim's dick, getting it spit slicked for what he had planned.

He knew what he was doing, he knew a lot of theory and so far theory was paying off big time with Jim's reaction. He could feel the shake of muscle as Jim tried to stay upright and focused and it made him want to smile, but that would have ruined the technique.

Smiling would've exposed his teeth, and that was a huge no. Gil swallowed, and then he slipped his finger out of his mouth, sliding that hand back behind Jim under a pretense of steadying him. But his fingertip had a target and he lowered his head down until he was almost gagging, pubic hair so close to his nose. He should've been able to take it all in, but he couldn't for whatever reason. He'd try to do better later, but he didn't exactly want to trigger his gag reflex and throw up on Jim's crotch.

That was a huge no as well. There was something more to the real thing, something more intense about the movement, the sounds, the touch of him. The way Jim groaned as he tried not to move too much and ruin everything. He was leaning against that hand, his voice managing broken syllables of words that somehow described his astonishment and pleasure.

"Fuck... y...yeah...just...ah..."

He was almost there, but not quite, so Gil slowed down, closing his eyes as he concentrated on Jim's sounds and the feel of him. Everything, even as he slid that slicked fingertip right into Jim's ass. He wasn't ready for the sudden jerk Jim gave, a near bellow of reaction that showed the additional sensation had caught him by surprise and sent him instinctively rocking, moving in his mouth, hot and full and very close to the edge.

Gil should have stopped, he should have, but he wanted to make Jim come, wanted to taste him and make him feel good with just his hands and his mouth. Gil twisted the finger, and didn't stop bobbing his head.

It didn't take much longer for Jim to thrust at him, in his mouth with less control and then there was the gathering under the fingers around his balls and the sudden spurt of hot salty musk in his mouth even as Jim was just saying "Gil...fuck....Gil...." in shaken tones.

Gil swallowed, suppressing a cough, and sucked a little more while he eased his finger out of Jim's ass. He slowed down, slowed the sensation, and then sat back, Jim's dick sliding out of his mouth before he leaned in to rest his cheek against Jim's hip while he wrapped one arm around Jim's ass. "Mm."

"You've sucked... the bones out of my legs through my cock," Jim managed with a gasp. "I ...yeah... that was damn good. I bet you had some happy practice vegetables back at the college." He was stroking gently down his face for all his flippant words,

"We used sex toys, but occasionally bananas. It was harder to hide if you used your teeth in one of those," Gil murmured lazily, comfortable there. He was hard and eager and worked up, but Jim was on the comedown.

"Just don't be tempted to try and unpeel me," Jim murmured. "I wasn't expecting a finger in my ass. Don't think I've had anyone do that to me before."

"Did you mind?" Gil asked, lifting his head to look up at Jim.

"Nah, it felt great. Just surprised me," Jim replied looking down to meet his gaze. "C'mon, up on the bed. I like to do my part in a bit more comfort. I've got a leg that doesn't like kneeling too much and I always overdo it at crime scenes. "

And it had been a long drive, and... Gil shifted to stand up, fingers lingering at the sides of Jim's hips. He had to step out of his pants still, anyway. "The bed sounds like a good idea."

Jim nodded, still smiling. Most men did after a blow job and Jim was no exception. Jim put his arms around Gil, a move he seemed to relish. "If you weren't taller than me I'd pick you up. At this rate we'll just have to fall vaguely in that direction."

"I'm okay with that." He smiled back, too, aware that he was still mostly dressed, no, completely dressed while he and Jim walked back the few feet to the bed.

"How was it? Your first time doing it for real?" Jim said as he patiently undid buttons and pushed him to sit down on the bed.

Gil let himself be pushed. "It's different than theory. I liked it better." He liked Jim better, but he didn't know how an answer that simplistic would be taken even if Jim was in a good mood.

Jim smirked. "Glad I wasn't a let down." Gil found his shirt was removed and then Jim was pushing him to lie back so he could get his pants off. 

It was easy for Gil to go with it, to let himself be guided and goaded because there was something a little hazy, a little enjoyable about being undressed, even if he toed off his shoes while Jim's fingers fiddled with his zipper. "That was so far from a let down..."

"I hope you'll... not be let down by this," Jim murmured and decided Gil's nipple was the ideal place to latch on to while he was undoing his pants and tugging them down.

Lips right there, a mouth sucking and biting and just being there felt amazing. Gil groaned as he tried to move his legs and lift his hips so he'd be easier for Jim to undress because he wanted to be naked right away, right fast.

They came off and Jim was all over him, his lips traveling over his chest and torso distracting him from being naked, as he moved down over his stomach towards his groin. He was bending and then he pushed Gil further onto the bed so he could slip up between his legs into a more horizontal position.

That was sort of comfortable, and it had to be easy on Jim's knees, right? Right, so Gil scooted back, half trying to stay aware of his surroundings. "How's this?"

"It's... just right. Lie back and relax a little," Jim murmured before he continued on his journey. 

It felt good, really good. Lady Heather had tried to explain it, what it felt like when it was good because in his memories there was a linger of shadow. But there was no shadow in any of Jim's kisses, or in his grin. "Your first blow job. You never forget your first, Gil..." and with that he slowly lower lips to his cock.

There was heat, a wet pressure against his dick, and then a motion that was Jim moving, licking over the head and touching it with his hands, and it made Gil wonder why anyone ever masturbated if they could have real sex. Because it did feel good, good enough that Gil was struggling not to lift his hips or squirm too much, legs spread and limp around Jim's body.

It didn't help that Jim lifted his head a little a chuckled with a huff of breath over his erection. "Enjoying that, Gil?" he murmured. He didn't use his hand to cup at his balls, but instead took one into his mouth and sucked, rolling it slightly.

Gil dug the heel of one foot in, and groaned, arching up against Jim's mouth. Lips and tongue over bare, clean skin, sensitive skin, crossed the line between taunting tickle and wondrous pleasure. He hadn't expected that, but while his Benefactor hadn't been to Practicum, his Benefactor had been in real life. Practicing on real people, and he was glad that Jim had because it felt amazing when Jim pulled at skin with a suck.

He did it to both sides before returning to his cock and taking it into his mouth. In the parts of his brain that were functioning he had to wonder how Jim knew how to do this. He'd been with Janice and he'd mentioned most of the people he had met through his letters. He was skilled for someone who had one-night stands and casual encounters. But after a while all he could feel was the pleasure.

Gil could think later. He could think when he wasn't comfortable and in a warm bed and when his Benefactor didn't have his dick in his mouth. When his Benefactor wasn't pulling back and doing something with his tongue, twisting it around the head of Gil's dick and sucking before taking him in deeper again, while Gil groaned. He was beginning to think he would pass out before he came, which might just leave him with a permanent hard-on. But he felt like he was floating, every suck a wave of sensation that swept him deeper into it all. He couldn't answer, talk or breathe...

Didn't need to, and Jim's hand snuck down to his balls. That was it for Gil, and it was maybe pathetically short but he didn't care. He could work on that later, because it felt so damned good. Lying there and just relaxing and coming, no worries about getting caught or anything else, because he was where he was supposed to be.

Jim sucked him clean, and then moved slightly so he could lie next to him. "So you like being sucked off?" He grinned a moment. "I always thought that was a stupid question to ask a man. It's like asking if you like breathing."

"I like breathing, too," Gil murmured once he was sure that he'd caught his breath. He shifted, trying to gauge whether and how he could move closer. "That was amazing. That... I guess I know why you never forget the first one."

"Well sometimes it's because the other guy bites you or something by accident," Jim smirked at him. "You know, I should've waited to change the sheets."

"Probably." It was hard to suppress the edge of a smirk that touched his lips. He gave a lazy stretch, and then twisted so he could stroke his hands over Jim. "Are you up to anything else? I think I'm still living off of the coffee from earlier, so..."

"We should pace ourselves, otherwise I'll be one guilty looking Benefactor when your Presentation comes up," Jim replied. "We can just go to bed. I like holding you. It feels good."

He could withstand that. A little at a time was actually a relief, because if Jim actually meant the offer to fuck him, he probably would've come all over Jim's crotch before he got anywhere near to the act. And that would've been pathetic. "That sounds good. I'll get the sheets."

"Yeah, if you don't mind. Some in the bottom drawer there," Jim pointed as he relaxed there. "If you can walk, I can't've been on my best form."

"I'm thinking about walking." Gil shifted, and tucked his head down comfortably against Jim's shoulder. This was working out better than he'd expected. Maybe he could keep distracting Jim from drinking with sex. "Thinking very hard."

Jim laughed a little more and wrapped his arms around him again. "I always knew brainpower was your strong point."

Gil moved in even closer to him and looked across slightly.

The beer stood on the side, only half empty. 

He smiled again and hid it against Jim's skin.

* * *

Jim had been thinking. There were a few people who would say that was a rare occurrence but they were people he didn't care to keep in touch with. No, the Presentation loomed and despite his insistent claim he didn't want to do it, wasn't going to do it, he sort of knew that he'd end up doing it for Gil's sake. His Companion was, to quote whatever hell literature it was, an 'un-person' until he went through the presentation, got registered and after that point he at least existed. 

Jim couldn't quite bring himself to think about the brand or the... object but he did know one thing. If there was pain involved he wanted it to stop. He needed a prescription painkiller and he hadn't signed up with a doctor since he got to Vegas for the same reasons he hadn't seemed to have unpacked his things, decorated his house....

In the last few days, the place was being transformed and he and Gil had been having fun doing it, but right now while Gil was painting the living room and going to unwrap their new couch, he had ducked in to work to see if he could get painkillers out of Doc Robbins. He was usually good about that sort of thing.

He'd get the old rigmarole about him needing to get a doctor and get his knee looked at and everything else, but Doc Robbins knew that Jim would do that on Jim's time frame, which might start next neverday and end with the end of time itself. So he mitigated Jim's neglect a little, here and there. After all, he was still a licensed general practitioner. He was just practicing on dead bodies now. Writing out a form, probably cause of death, when Jim peeked his head in.

"Hey, Al," Jim half grinned at him from the door. He wrinkled his nose a little. "Ripe one, huh? Don't envy you that.”

"Very little affects my nostrils anymore, Jim..." Al turned a little, his face curious as he signed his name at the bottom of the sheet. "Aren't you supposed to be on vacation?"

"Yeah, I am," He walked in with a heavy limp. "I've been doing all this driving, just got back in and my knee is killing me. And there was I was thinking, geez, if Cath sends me out I won't be able to drive. I nearly locked up three times on the way over. I was thinking a couple days with painkillers and I'll be fit to come back and no worrying the boss."

"Uh-huh." Al always eyed him dubiously, just a little. Not that he doubted Jim, but he probably thought he really needed to see a doctor of his own. "So you're actually planning on resting your leg?"

"Now I'm back? Yeah. Came back a bit earlier than I was going to originally so I've got some time." Jim mentally crossed his fingers as he said that. "Would you mind? Only the strongest stuff over the counter never touches it."

"Did you go skydiving while you were on vacation?" Al teased, turning away towards his desk in the far corner, past the bodies and the rinsing tables.

"Something much more terrifying. I went to LA. Caught up with an old friend," Jim said and was pleased he wasn't exactly lying. He was just missing out how long they had spent with Annie and that one of the old friends was his Companion.

His Companion counted as an old friend, after all. Sort of. Al was scribbling on a sheet of paper, and watching him. "This is just a couple of doses. You really need to get your own doctor. Jim..."

Jim shrugged a little sheepishly. "I know, I know, I might try and register over the next couple of days, it's just that will be too late to fix the problem."

"Just... please do it this time, Jim. It'll make it easier for you if something happens to that knee and you need post surgical care. As a man who knows about leg troubles, trust me." Leg troubles. Not having legs, but Jim knew the doctor had the same kind of reasons that he did for his 'troubles'.

Just twenty something years beforehand. Al moved over towards Jim, and was just handing him the slip for the prescription when the door opened again.

"Doc, have you got-- Brass?"

"Hey, Cath," Jim said raising a hand to say hi. He'd hoped to get out of there before anyone spotted him. It was way too easy to get sucked in. "Came to see if you'd let Sanders blow up the lab while I was away."

"He's been getting bored without you here to entertain him," she joked a little, stepping into the morgue and eyeing him, then Al, then the sheet that Jim was pocketing. "So, vacation cut short?"

"Yeah. Knee's playing up, thought I'd head back," Jim said looking at her. Cath reminded him in a strange way of Lady Heather now that he had met the woman. It was odd, but he made the connection and nearly smiled. Imagining Catherine teaching a Practicum was up there in the realms of the very possible.

She'd been a stripper once, after all.

"Oh yeah? Heading back home, or... where were you going again?" She was curious, she'd been curious when he'd found his time off applied from on high.

"I went to LA," Jim said. He gave a half smile. "And Al here is way too innocent to hear the sort of things that went on. I'm heading back home, resting the knee, maybe doing some decorating."

"Decorating, huh? Beer can curtains?" Catherine winked at him and moved further into the room. "Enjoy your last couple of days off, Brass."

"I'll be back on Monday," Jim replied, turning towards the door and remembering to limp. "No doubt Vegas will welcome me back in its own way."

"I don't know what we'd do without you." He was going to pretend that he didn't hear a hint of sarcasm in Catherine's voice as he limped towards the door. Al probably knew there was something up. But as long as he was functioning, he wasn't going to say anything.

Hey, he even deserved some of that sarcasm. Someone got too close, he pushed them away. Well, unless they were like Sanders who always reminded him of the type of puppy that kept trying to climb in his lap no matter how many times he pushed it down. He nearly laughed at that as he limped slowly up the corridor. Gil and Greg... now there was a meeting he'd like to see. Might be the first time the kid met someone who could outthink him. Both kids. Gil would like it here. It might be worth waiting until there was a position in the lab, or maybe he could do consulting? Nah, he'd need experience for that. Or perhaps Al needed help, and Gil had experience there. They'd have to work on his resume but there was this.... strange problem they had. A total inability to stop having sex.

It was amazing, even if they hadn't gone 'all the way'. It was like his libido was getting a workout for the first time in years -- and it was -- because there was an intelligent, fun, gorgeous young man who wanted him. Pretty much every moment that the thought crossed Gil's mind. He wasn't as leery of sex as Jim had expected him to be.

And that was amazing. Jim couldn't say that Gil decided to settle for him because he was sheltered, because he'd been out and out there in the world working in LA county. Lots of people he could meet and be attracted to.

LA was full of people who made their looks their living and Gil wanted him. He couldn't fake that. Jim had spent nearly a decade interrogating suspects and sifting statement and evidence for truth and he seen the grieving widows who turned out to be murderers and there was always something a little off when they were trying to pretend. To lie to him. Gil wasn't lying to him and in some ways that made the whole thing worse. He was buying into it. The thing he had spent despising, avoiding certain it was morally wrong and he hadn't even lasted a night of temptation.

Not that Gil didn't have some points. But, but... But. Jim didn't want to admit that he was buying into it even as he was. He'd bought into Gil, at least, even if he was going to try to give Gil as much freedom as he'd take. Gil just didn't seem to want much freedom.

Besides, Gil seemed to really enjoy decorating the... their house. And he had to admit, he finally felt like it belonged to him somehow, even with dust sheets and paint cans everywhere. They were useful if Gil got a look in his eye after one to many strokes. Jim was considering keeping them permanently. 

He realized he was walking through the lab beaming inanely. That would convince everyone he was on drugs for sure. But hey! Maybe that was what they thought he was doing on vacation. Who knew?

Jim at least had part of his goal accomplished. Drugs so that Gil was already out of it before the torture kicked in. There was no way he could pretend it would be anything but torture for him, and he hated himself that he didn't stand up to it, find a way to stop it. But he would be there for him, he would try and ease things as much as possible one way or another and Gil wouldn't have to suffer it alone.

There was nothing worse than being alone.

Thoughts plucked at the edge of his mind, and Jim had to concentrate not to give in to them. It took a little of the grin off of his face as he headed for the parking lot. He wanted to get home in one piece, not pieces, and Gil didn't need to deal with that kind of shit. Gil didn't even know what kind of shit Jim was dealing with.

So far he'd managed not to wake Gil with his own insomnia. He covered it with trips to the bathroom, or downstairs to try and find a beer that Gil hadn't hidden. He had noticed and he didn't mind except when it was too bad, and just... there in his head and only alcohol would send it away.

He probably needed to work on it, because Gil had noted and he was trying to mitigate it in his own quiet way. Gil wasn't exactly confrontational, but he was stubborn in his own way. He stood up to Jim, and that mattered. That made Jim feel better about it, that Gil could joke and relax, and be himself. Even if himself was someone Jim had created.

He needed someone who would argue with him, he needed someone who gave a shit about him enough to make him miserable and not take the easy way out of things. He'd thought he'd found it once with Janice and that had ended up not just pouring salt in open wounds but dousing them in acid and gas and tossing a lit match at the resultant mess. And he'd thought he'd blown his one chance and anything else would be an empty construct of human emotion, artificial and trained to a false mimicry of the real thing.

Instead of that, he'd got Gil. Maybe his second chance, but when he allowed himself to remember what had really happened, always his first choice.

* * *

He had paint on his nose.

It was going to be a long story when he explained it to Jim, but he had the ceiling painted even if he was looking a little worse for wear himself. Worst case scenario, he was in a little trouble for really making the drop cloths dead and paint in his hair.

Even so, he was pleased with what he had accomplished. It made such a difference to the place. Filled it with light and a warmth of color that he thought would please Jim when he got back in. He didn't actually think he'd get all of it finished before Jim got back, but so much the better.

He still had the trim to do, after all, and that had to dry. That wasn't so bad, though. Jim could help and... Gil smiled to himself. Yeah. They were lucky to have made it as long as they had without breaking that one important rule.

He considered he'd had an excuse. He was twenty-one, and had even received training in the art of sex but had never been allowed to put it into practice. In his head, he had years of catching up to do. Maybe tonight they might... go a little further than blow jobs, hands, fingers...

Jim tasted so much better when he hadn't been drinking.

It was stupid and possibly all in his head, but Gil liked that thought and he wanted to keep Jim from drinking much. He knew he'd been sneaking off in the night, because Gil would move close in his sleep and taste whiskey on Jim's lips. That was inexplicably sad for Gil, but he was going to work on it. He had years to work on it, to try to help Jim through it. 

Life, even full of strange little things like that, was good for Gil.

The knock at the door however, threw him a little. He stood and wiped his hands off a moment considering. Was he meant to let people in? Entertain them? There had been whole sections on hospitality and what to do and what approaches to take depending on who was there and...

He'd apparently not had the lessons where the people knocked and just walked in the house if the door was off the latch.

"Jim, sweetheart?! James?" A woman's voice called out.

James? There were few people who would call him that, Gil knew that already.

He really should've locked the front door, and he wasn't in any state to be greeting people. It was a woman's voice that he heard, which left him very few options -- ex wife, no, she wouldn't show up in Vegas, Jim's boss, maybe? Gil started out of the living room and towards the front hallway to see whom it was. Maybe he could see them before they saw him.

"I didn't see his car out front," a man's voice said. "I told you we should have called before we came up."

"Well, he didn't even send out invitations to the Presentation, and though he doesn't keep in touch with most of everyone back home, as his parents we should have been invited," the woman replied. "Besides the door is open. He must be here somewhere."

That was logical -- people didn't leave their doors unlocked as long as there wasn't anyone home. Gil edged a little closer to the open doorway of the living room that let out into the hallway. They had their backs to him, and were facing towards the kitchen, and Gil took a step closer. They were older looking, older than Jim.

"I'm afraid that he's out right now. Can I help you?"

The woman turned and he immediately recognized the poise and appearance of someone Companion trained, and as the man turned his head he recognized the eyes and jaw line. Definite relations, and guessing from the conversation most likely Jim's parents. It was strange, they looked young for how old they must be to have had Jim, as if Jim had aged prematurely.

"You must be Gil," the woman said warmly. "I'm Rebecca. It wonderful to meet you at last. To be honest, I was beginning to wonder if we ever would."

"Rebecca, I thought we agreed not to talk about that," Jim's father said.

Rebecca made a dismissive gesture, "Richard darling, you don't know how important Going Home is to Companions. I don't think I could even put it into words, and James kept poor Gil waiting for so long."

He suddenly wished that they had called ahead, so he wouldn't greet Jim's parents while covered in paint. "It's all right. It's been worth it. I'm Gil. It's nice to meet you." But they knew that, so he offered his hand to each of them, after he'd finished wiping his fingers on the paint rag he'd been holding. "We're redecorating. I'd invite you into the living room, but I just painted the ceiling and I'm not sure it's not going to drip."

"That's quite all right dear," Rebecca said indulgently. "I'm perfectly at home in the kitchen. I expect you are as well." She smiled at him. "Richard, did you remember to bring the box in?"

"The... No, I left it in the car," Jim's father said. "I'll just get it."

"That's a good idea," Rebecca said and watched him go. "We can put some coffee on while we wait. Jim has gone out?"

"He was looking for something." Gil assumed that, because Jim had been a little secretive. He didn't try to hide his drinking, so Gil could only guess it was some kind of surprise. Whether it was a good one or not, time would tell. "Do you prefer cream or sugar, or?"

"Both. Richard has his black," Rebecca said as they moved into the kitchen. She smiled. "I think you're going to be good for Jimmy. He's been here a long time and he hasn't done a thing to the place. And now you're here, it's come on in leaps and bounds."

"He doesn't... really take care of himself," Gil said a little vaguely as he moved towards the jar where Jim kept coffee. He liked to splurge on good coffee like he liked to splurge on electronics, and that was funny to Gil. "He redid a whole room so it'd be ready when I came home with him, but he still has boxes he never unpacked from moving out here."

"That sounds like Jimmy," Rebecca sighed a little and took a seat at the table. "He didn't used to be like that. Of course, everything with Janice and the whole situation back home -- It was meant to bring him back to himself and it did, but then when it went wrong, it made things worse."

Gil lifted the lid off of the grinder, and dropped four scoops of beans into it. "What... happened? I can piece together what happened with Janice, but that's not what makes him do..." Do what? Ignore himself in favor of anyone else who'd take the attention, work hard, drink. "This."

"Well that, my dear, is the million dollar question," Rebecca said seemingly effortlessly comfortable in his company. "Something happened to Jimmy on his Benefactor Duty and he's never told anyone. Believe me, Richard and I tried. And I've kept trying over and over. Frankly I'm glad he didn't tell Janice because come the end, she would have used it against him and what she did hurt him enough. I used to be quite good in the people reading classes -- modesty aside, but it's like reading a brick wall. So don't be surprised if you get that sometimes."

It wasn't quite like reading a brick wall. There was too much beneath the surface pain, but it washed over and overrode any clear signals that Jim might've been giving. Gil frowned a little to himself as he ran the grinder for a moment, the high-pitched loud noise enough reason for him not to talk before he turned it off. "When I was eight, he stopped writing. For months. One of the other Companions had just lost their Benefactor because he died while doing his Duty. I couldn't think or concentrate until I finally got a letter from Jim saying he'd been too sick to write." So whatever had happened during those few months was... very important.

"It was a bit longer than just a few months. The mail from where he was, it was very bad. He tells us he was injured and then got unwell in the jungle. That's all he's ever said," Rebecca replied. "I was just so pleased to have him back, I didn't press him then when maybe it would have been of more use. But he went into the force, seemed to do really well, met Janice, had a whirlwind romance..." She sighed a little even as they heard the door shut and Richard came back in.

"I've got the box."

That was a little ominous. "I worked in as a CSI in LA. There's injury scars and there's... inflicted." It was funny to feel himself realizing it as he said it. Giving voice to words was sometimes as good as knowing what he was talking about, because the pieces were jagged and maybe they weren't all in the right place, but they were starting to make sense finally. Jim had gone missing, Jim liked to have choices, liked for Gil to have choices, Jim had scars. Jim didn't want his choice taken away, and the implication was 'again'.

He turned a little even as he filled the coffee maker with fresh grounds.

"You talking about Jimmy?" Richard asked looking between them both. "Well, he was in a war. It was bad luck there was combat service when he did his Benefactor Duty. We know he was injured and he kept saying he was fine."

"I've told you before, darling, that there's fine and there is 'fine'." Rebecca did a perfect inflection imitation of Jim's response when he was being difficult to talk to. "Gil needs to know about these things. It's part of what he'll be doing. There are always great mysteries and wonders to discover about the one who Chooses you. You should know that, love."

He supposed that they would know, and Richard just smiled. Gil turned away to get mugs, and then headed to the fridge to get milk. He wasn't going to talk it out with Jim's parents there, or more pointedly, Jim's father. He was another Benefactor, and Gil wasn't quite comfortable with that even if Rebecca looked lovestruck with him.

Rebecca felt... comfortable, normal to him even with her poise and precision. She was familiar, and like the family he had known until Jim had come for him. Richard on the other hand was a Benefactor and not his Benefactor. That was an entirely different thing. 

"So, you have been getting on well? With Jimmy?"

"Very well." Once they'd gotten past that initial problem and he'd apparently convinced Jim enough that he wasn't a mindless drone. "I enjoy his company and I understand him on a professional level."

The sex was amazing. But he wasn't going to say that.

Rebecca was smiling at him over the lip of her coffee cup. "Broken any rules yet?" she asked with a smile.

Gil finished pouring Richard's cup, and then added milk and sugar for his own. "No. Not really." Not the big one, and that was all that Lady Heather had stressed for him to follow, given his age and his circumstances. He turned around again to put the milk away, and Richard had sat down beside Rebecca at the kitchen table.

Richard chuckled. "I think we managed a 'not really' as well," he commented. "If the Presentation had been any longer... well, things would have been different."

"Your presentation is while we are here Gil. Jimmy tends to forget about things like inviting people, or realizing what a big thing it is to the Companion. I had a feeling he would do that," Rebecca said.

Then she knew her son well. Gil sat down across from them, curling his fingers around his coffee mug. "It's... I'm not actually looking forward to the presentation itself. What it means, yes."

Rebecca leaned over and patted his hand. "I know, dear. I was terrified before mine. But it's a few moments of discomfort and then life really begins. Now, I suspect Jimmy hasn't done anything about the Brand or the Opener?

"No. He's not comfortable discussing it." Gil took a sip of his coffee, and sat back a little. It had just about been time for him to take a break from painting anyway.

"I told you, Richard," Rebecca glanced at him.

Her husband sighed a little. "She has a tendency to be always right," he said in a low voice. "Well, we wondered about that. The Brass line of Benefactors goes back to one of the original twelve families in a direct lineage. As such, we have an heirloom brand…"

"Very tasteful," Rebecca interrupted. "Really. I'll show you mine if you want to see it. Although of course there is the bit that can be altered to make it unique. Seems such a shame to have to discard that part forever, but it is right there should be a unique mark..."

"And..." Richard continued as he revealed a sizable gleaming object, “A solid silver Companion Opener. It has some exotic proper name but I forget what it is."

The Orange Juicer, Gil decided mentally, staring a little. It looked like a long orange juicer, and he started to open his mouth to say something before he closed his mouth. No, he wasn't going to say that. "It, uh..." Needed to be sterilized. Thoroughly, in an autoclave or two.

Rebecca rather unexpectedly giggled. "I know exactly what is going through your mind," she said stifling laughter. "I think my first words were something along the lines of if that's been locked away in a box for years on end I want it scrubbed boiled and soaked in iodine."

"I was actually thinking that it looked like some kind of deranged orange juicer, but that was a close second." Gil shook his head a little and took another sip of coffee. That was supposed to go up his ass. It was ridged, lengthwise, and it was supposed to go up his ass.

Rebecca laughed again. "And I was only saying we needed a new one," she said. "Now we won't have to get one, Richard."

He smiled back at her. "May I remind you it is a cherished heirloom? Dating back to the Imperial days before Independence?"

"You may, but Gil's right, it might make a good juicer."

"It..." Gil shook his head at the thing, and was glad he was already sitting back in his chair. "I'm sure it was very cutting edge at the time." And it hadn't been used in at least thirty years. Did it get polished every year?

Richard nodded. "It would mean a lot to us if it were used for your Presentation. A way of making you part of the Brass lineage. We both want that."

And it wasn't as if Jim was going to come home with one, so Gil nodded as he put his mug down for a moment. The presentation was just the next night. That wasn't long at all. "I understand."

There was the sound of another rattle at the front door. "Hey Gil! Brought something to eat. Got to keep our strength up!"

Gil glanced to Jim's parents for a moment, and then slid out of his chair. "Jim..." He walked out of the kitchen and into the hallway, and once he was out of sight of the kitchen door, he gestured to the kitchen door. "Your parents arrived while you were out."

Then he added in sign ~They've brought tools for the presentation.~

They had been practicing it a bit and Jim was getting better as the lessons came back.

~Fuck, that's all we need~ he signed back and then went into the kitchen

"Mom, Dad... you didn't tell me you were coming up to Vegas?" He said as he put down the bags of food and his jacket.

"Our invitation got lost in the post," his mother said to him and Jim had the grace to look away, a little embarrassed.

"Yeah well, I didn't exactly get around to... invitations."

"There just wasn't time," Gil shrugged as he moved to peek into the bags. "Jim, I finished the ceiling. Once we do the trim, that room's finished."

"Hey, that's great, Gil," Jim said as he slipped behind him heading for the fridge and one of his ever present beers. "So, Mom, Dad, I take it you'll be there then? You didn't have to come all the way for this.”

His mother looked scandalized. "James, this is a very important time for you and your Companion. For the family. We are welcoming someone into the family and you are accepting your full status as Benefactor."

"Which is something I could do without," Jim muttered.

"It doesn't make much of a difference, does it?" Gil asked as he reached into a bag to lift out a takeout container. There were groceries in another bag and some thick chocolate looking cake, hiding under a head of lettuce.

He liked the contrast of the two things. Healthy salad and thick cake. That was very Jim.

"More to the point, son, we've brought the family Brand and Opener," his father said. "All Companions of the Brass lineage have had the family Brand and used this Opener."

"You make it sound like something you should find on your desk at work Dad," Jim said even as he put some other items away. He was obviously not impressed.

"Believe me, Jimmy, you wouldn't find this on a desk anywhere," his mother said holding up the solid silver 'juicer'.

The look on Jim's face was one of complete horror. "No way. Not a chance in hell."

"I think it'd make a great orange juicer," Gil murmured, the most he was going to comment as he unpacked the groceries. It looked like they had a couple of meals worth of takeout food, particularly if he added the salad as a side. "Are you staying for dinner?"

"No, I think we'll let you to continue to get to know each other. We'll leave you with the appropriate items," Rebecca said with a knowing look at them both. "You have some discussion to do and the brand to decide on."

Gil folded the grocery bags, and on his way to put them under the sink, he brushed Jim's arm, so he'd at least go a little less stiff. "We will, thank you."

Jim's mother got up and gave her son a hug. "We'll be staying in Vegas a little after so we'll catch up at some point then, and at the Presentation."

Jim kissed her cheek. "That'll be good, Mom," he said and it was obvious he still loved his parents and they loved him even as his Dad gave him a clap on the shoulder in farewell.

"We're proud of you son. Good to meet you, Gil," he said with a nod. "We'll see ourselves out."

"It was nice meeting you." Gil turned, waving a little, and was half-tempted to shadow them to the door so he could lock it once they were gone.

Even so, Jim saw them out obviously having the same idea. Gil heard the door shut and then Jim give a sigh. ”Well that was entertaining."

"Your mother was very seriously trying to convince me that I want a fruit juicer put up my ass," Gil deadpanned as he moved to meet Jim out in the hallway. "You missed the entertaining part." 

"Yeah, sounds like it." Jim winced looking at the box on the table and then away as if he couldn't bear to look at it. "I... can't do that. Not let them put something like that... there."

Gil let his hands drift, loosely holding onto Jim's upper arms. "Then we need to decide what's going to be used. Your father was insistent that it's a family heirloom..."

Jim very artlessly turned away to unpack another bag. "The standard ones aren't really any better. I looked." He seemed very uncomfortable about the whole thing. "I don't want to do this to you. I don't want them pushing that in you for the sake of some barbaric ritual and causing you pain."

Ah, so that had been what Jim had been doing. Gil shadowed after him, and stood a little behind him, but not so close that he'd get walked into when Jim turned around. "I need to be registered, Jim. I need my ID. I'm not looking particularly forward to it myself."

“I know that!" Jim sounded a bit angry and frustrated. "I know that. I just... I can't see my way around this. I've tried... I... I've got some strong painkillers from Doc Robbins that you can have before hand. They make you a bit woozy, but I guess that won't matter."

Gil put his hand on Jim's shoulder, and started to massage there almost absently. "I appreciate what you're doing, Jim. I know you're trying."

"Yeah, but I'm not good enough to get you out of it," Jim said. "I'm not good enough to think of a way where you don't have to be hurt to live a decent life. And that really pisses me off."

Gil stepped closer to Jim, and on an exhale, leaned his forehead against the back of Jim's neck. "You're good enough, Jim. But sometimes, rules are rules. You can't tell me there hasn't been a case or a time at work where the rules were going to take down someone even though they were doing good."

Jim nodded. "Yeah, and the same ones sometimes protect the ones that shouldn't get away." He relaxed a little. "I don't want you hurt. The brand is bad enough."

"I don't mind the brand so much," Gil murmured. He shifted a little closer, and slid his arms around Jim's waist, not lifting his head yet. "I like the idea of your mark. There's a great deal of safety implied in it."

Jim went silent at that for a moment then he sighed. "Yeah, Mom said that once. I just... Look, I guess we should look at it. It's the Brass registered symbol and there's this box that has hundreds of small other symbols that you chose and then traditionally you keep. We... could look at that. You don't have to, no matter what my parents said."

"I know. But I think... that would be okay." He turned his head a little, and kissed just above the collar of Jim's shirt. He was definitely doing his part to impede the grocery unpacking. "If you have any ideas for the other..."

"The only idea I have for the other is to get you ready to take it beforehand." Jim replied. "We could... practice a little. Maybe it's rule breaking but better that than having a large object shoved up your ass."

"I'm not actually sure that it is rule-breaking," Gil murmured, still curled up against Jim's back, holding onto him, trying to soothe him. He liked that, standing there and holding onto his Benefactor. It was nice to have human contact and not feel guilty about it. "Since you have to be a virgin in the first place to actually lose it with your Benefactor before the Presentation. Lady Heather was vague about how the rule applied to me."

"We'll eat and maybe fool around a little," Jim said decisively. "We've worked hard, we need something."

"I think I need to take a shower, but I'm getting used to paint in my hair." Gil pulled back, eyeing the takeout. "Takeout, salad and cake?"

"Balanced diet, I thought," Jim said and smiled. "I thought you deserved chocolate. I know I do. Lying to the boss to get painkillers."

"You lied to your boss?" Gil let a hand linger on Jim's back, and then walked to grab plates and see if they had salad dressing or something.

"Yeah, well kinda. Said my knee was bad and persuaded Al to do a prescription so I would be fit for work Monday. Catherine was there," Jim said as he warmed up a few of the takeout cartons.

"I need to meet her some time," Gil murmured, while he started to put things together. It was a sort of healthy meal, and as long as Jim was eating real food and not calling Jack Daniels a meal, then it was very healthy for Jim.

He even looked a bit healthier even just from the week of not drinking as much and having to provide dinner for Gil. "Yeah... I..." Brass twisted a grimace. "I haven't exactly told anyone I'm Benefactor ranked."

"Oh." Oh was an understatement. Gil paused, and then started to put the salad on the plate. "How do you think they're going to react, if... you tell them at all?"

"I don't know." Jim shrugged. "I really don't. It's just never been that important a thing in my life. At least... not until you."

"You don't take advantage of what that means," Gil shrugged back, reaching to grab forks and the ranch dressing that looked like it would expire in a week or two. "That's not necessarily a bad thing."

"Not so far. To be honest? Most Benefactors really irritate me." Jim sat down as Gil came over. "Even my Dad gets it sometimes. The whole 'we have a responsibility and a Duty'..." He faded off on that word and reached to serve out food as if it had been deliberate.

"You served your duty. What duty is there left?" Gil asked. He backtracked for a moment to get something to drink, and very pointedly poured Jim a glass of juice.

"The duty of upholding the name, the privilege and providing an Heir. It sounds like some ridiculous medieval story but trust me, they believe it. They really do." Jim looked at the juice and then away as he served out some of the Chinese take out he had put on the table. 

"You're a CSI -- that's upholding a name. You have a nice house, and..." Gil paused. That last one got him a little, and he had to pause while he sat down in his own chair across from Jim's. "Ellie?"

Jim went very still mid reach and when he unfroze his face was full of that self mocking bitterness Gil had seen when Jim looked for the drink. "Yeah. Ellie. My little girl."

Gil shifted his leg forwards, brushing against Jim's. "I'm sorry, Jim."

He was looking at his food as if he had lost his appetite. "I don't want them to disinherit her. She's not mine, they don't think I know but... she is mine. My only daughter, but that's not good enough for succession."

"They want a blood heir." Gil stuck his fork in a little pile of lettuce leaves, and contemplated eating it. "How do they know she's not?"

"They suspect. And they have the right to demand a DNA test before establishing a Benefactor Trust Fund. They're planning to do that for her Acceptance," Jim replied. "When it comes back... Janice will be formally denied Benefactor Rank again, so will Ellie and there's nothing I can do about it. And then they'll come pushing at me to marry again."

"And you don't want to?" Gil guessed. He didn't particularly want to share Jim, no, he definitely didn't want to share Jim, but if he had to... then he had to. It wasn't his choice to make, no matter how much Jim went on about choices.

"No. I didn't want to before and now..." Jim looked at Gil directly. "Now I definitely don't."

He wasn't going to smile at that. Gil was going to eat his salad. "There are other ways to get around that, aren't there?"

"Well, I guess if I really refuse, they'll invoke the clause that allows for donor sperm or genetic material for a surrogate," Jim replied. "And they'll do it rather than let the line die out. My dad is pretty laid back, and was about my choices as long as there was an heir. He was fine about me divorcing Janice because there was still a Brass heir in Ellie."

Until they did a DNA test. Gil shifted his leg again and sat back a little. "Whatever you decide to do, I'll back you up. I'm not sure how much that means, but..."

"It means a lot. I guess I've been alone a long time," Jim replied dryly. "Even when I was married. It was my fault, I was working long hours, and ...things were going sour on me. That was about the time I could've come and picked you up the first time. Janice didn't want it and I was trying to save the marriage." He sighed a little. "Should've done it then, I guess, but then you might've been in danger so I'm glad I didn't."

"Janice..." Gil stuck another bunch of lettuce. "We wouldn't have gotten along anyway. Anyway, I probably wasn't fit to bring home when I was sixteen."

Jim smiled. "Yeah, but we could've had fun arguing," he said and ate a mouthful. "I was stirring things up then for a couple of years. It was pretty bad. "

"With the cops back home?" Gil guessed. "Was that what you meant when you said it wasn't safe?"

"Yeah. I became pretty good at checking for traps and ambushes. They tried to get rid of me all the time, and for the longest time I wondered why they never went after Janice or Ellie," Jim shrugged. "That was before I found out it was my partner who was in it up to his eyes and who had been in Janice up to something completely different. The knee problem came from when we nearly killed each other." He made it sound matter of fact. "In the end, I got him more than he got me."

So he shot him or the man went to jail. Either or, it wasn't good for a cop. "What happened to your knee?" Gil pressed curiously.

"We were fighting. Well, technically he was resisting arrest. He threw me down the stairs and kicked the crap out of me." Jim mused for a moment. "Which I guess was to be expected as I'd been doing the same to him. I sort of twisted my knee up good. But Mike didn't think I had the nerve to go all the way. Didn't think I had it in me. He was wrong. When he thought he'd beaten me, he left me no other choice and I killed him. He was my best friend."

The gentle joking tone he usually had was gone and replaced by something harsh and snappy.

Gil chewed quietly on the salad he already had, but he set his fork down. "You apparently weren't his. That's not your fault, Jim. He put you in that situation..."

"Gil, don't make excuses for me," Jim said. "This is what I've been trying to tell you. I'm the type of guy who would take down their best friend and kill them. I've done things I doubt you would approve of. I've blurred lines, broken promises and that's not all of it. I'm not the type of person you should defend. I can't even do that for myself."

"Then someone has to defend you, even if you won't do it yourself."

Jim ate another couple of mouthfuls. "See, how can I hope to resist you?" he murmured. "I don't stand a chance."

"I meant that, Jim. You can say that you're a horrible person all you want, but I'm not going to believe it. You were doing your job and upholding the law." Gil stabbed some noodles, and tried to wind them around his fork.

"Well I was punching his face in but, technically I was upholding the law," Jim agreed. "You been at the CCCC all your life, I just... worry you'll been shocked by things you'll find out about me."

"I've been working for the county since I was old enough to, Jim." Gil waved his fork at him a little. "I'm not completely sheltered. I haven't been sheltered like that for a long time."

"No I guess not." Jim seemed to be considering the sort of exposure that people who worked in close proximity to death got of the darker side of life. "It's difficult to explain Gil. Even after I took Mike down there were all the others and... it just wasn't safe in Jersey. And Janice wanted me out. She despised me. I killed her lover. I left for Vegas and I'm sorry but I couldn't even deal with myself then, let alone the whole Companion thing."

"I'm not holding that against you," Gil murmured, taking another bite of his food. "I understand. This is the right time. Now is the right time."

"Despite the paint in your hair?" Jim replied eating a little more as conversation lifted out of the somber and reflective. He looked at the box still on the table and flipped it open. There was the heirloom 'orange juicer' and then a smaller box and various flat trays. "You want to see the family brand?"

"Over dinner? Are you sure that's sanitary?" Gil joked a little. "I'd like to look at it. Your parents were so busy trying to convince me that the other wasn't an orange juicer that they didn't have time to show me the brand." Show him or sell him? He wasn't sure.

Jim smiled a little. "It'll be clean.” He opened it up and the brand glittered like a ring of precious metal. Gil wasn't sure what he had been expecting but it hadn't been the elegant intricate circle with two swords crossing in it and a space underneath within the circle that could obviously be for the additional symbol. "My Dad used to tell me the story of the Brass symbol. You know the Twelve Benefactors and all the half legends and tales around them and the stories of the Great Empire? It's a bit like that but it belongs to our family. The name of Brass comes from the name Broesian -- you recognize that right?" It was hard not to. Everyone grew up with tales of the Twelve Benefactors -- especially Companions. 

"I recognize that," Gil told him, waiting a little happily to hear the rest of the story. It was an elegant brand, something that he'd bear proudly even if Jim didn't understand. "It's hard not to. So your family descends from him?"

"So the story goes. Broesian apparently means wielder or creator of Brass and there's the story of the last sword -- when the Benefactor who became Broesian was left without a weapon and made and cast a Brass sword and won in a duel in defense of some innocents though the sword should have splintered. Which is why there are swords crossed. After that, he was named Broesian and became one of the Twelve." Jim grinned a little. "You should hear my dad tell that story. It's like he believes he was there, defending honor and Duty with his Brass sword which justice and right has tempered tougher than the hardest steel. That's a direct quote by the way."

"From the story or your father?" Gil asked with a faint smile curling his mouth. The need to keep the line alive made so much more sense now, and Jim's father's pride in the 'old tools'. He'd possibly challenge Ellie because she was a girl and not a boy.

"Both. The Brass line and the other variants on it have had an unusual amount of people in military, law enforcement, the judicial system," Jim said. "There was a great uncle who kept trying to convince me that the saying 'Bold as Brass' came from our ancestor. I think he might have been lying. It's not like we are the only line to come out of the Broesian root. There are Brashers , Brasser, Brash and blah blah blah..."

"I'm not familiar with the Blah lineage," Gil teased a little, eyeing the brand a little before he leaned to check the trays instead of eating his takeout. "Is there a J in here?"

"A J? Why do you want a J?" Jim asked. "There are symbols pictures, letters -- all sorts. There might be. I don't think even Dad knows all of them. Have a look."

"J is for James?" Gil offered, leaning to peer through that. "Unless there's something better?"

"You get to choose that," Jim said as he ate some more. "Anything that you feel is good. And then that one is yours and yours alone."

"Mmm." Right, because couples kept the symbols. Some of them probably made their own, but he and Jim were running short on time. And maybe someone else had already chosen a J. Gil shifted his plate a little sideways, absently eating as he started to sort through the trays, laying them all out. "I know you're uncomfortable with that idea."

"It's just... that it's too like slavery and we got rid of that. It's making lines around people and saying that you're different from me. Well, yeah you are, you're smarter for a start, but... it's like racism. "

"Geneticism," Gil corrected a little. "Most of us are deaf or blind due to genetic reasons. But it..." Gil shrugged his shoulders a little, peering over some of the design blocks on the trays. "I don't know."

"It's..." Jim hesitated. "Look, I think we might be the lucky ones. Despite everything I know I've never felt about anyone like I do about you and I've only met you face to face barely a week. But I think of Sasha and I think... that's not right. She's not happy, and she has no choice. She's bright, superbly educated and trained with a lot to give the world and... she's stuck with a complete bastard."

"Which you're not," Gil added just because he could. "I feel sorry for her. And I worry about what he's done to her, but I know she's going to leave him as soon as she can."

"It's just she should be able to do it when she wants to," Jim said. "I don't like the discrepancy in the laws where Companions are essentially classified as property unless they marry their Benefactor."

"And only female Companions have that out." But Gil didn't personally need or want an out. He couldn't marry Jim, but he didn't want to leave him.

"I reckon males could if they were married, but that doesn't happen because of the business with an Heir," Jim replied. "I wonder if that would ever come up if it was tried?"

"The Heir? Oh, probably." Gil picked up the J he'd been looking for, a florid letter with scrolling decoration, and smiled as he looked sideways at Jim. "Do you like this?"

Jim nodded. "As J's go it's pretty stylish. If you want that. You could have a G for Gil?"

He ate a little more of the takeout, mulling it over before he shook his head. "It's supposed to be your mark, Jim."

"Our mark," Jim corrected. "Our mark, so if you want uh... the star cluster or the butterfly, I'll be happy for you. If you want the J and that feels good to you then have it."

"There's a butterfly?" Maybe there was a moth or a spider or something. Gil started to pore over the little symbols a bit more intently.

Jim chuckled as he kept eating, occasionally making helpful comments or pointing out possible symbols of interest. There was indeed a small spider on a web, several butterflies, one that Gil swore was a moth though Jim said he couldn't see the difference. There was even a beetle. Gil had to correct Jim and explain it was actually a scarab.

He liked the idea of the moth -- even if Jim wasn't sure what it was --and finally, if a little reluctantly, put the J back into the tray and started to put them away, keeping the brand itself and the moth out. "I think I prefer this one."

"Well if you want a moth, you're going to be the one wearing it," Jim smiled at him, a lot of his bitterness of before faded in the wake of their choosing experience. "Why a moth?"

"Do you prefer the scientific reason, mythical justification, or the more simple 'I like it'?" Gil turned the symbol around so Jim could look at it. He's abandoned his food somewhere in there, but that was all right. He was done eating, full, and the pieces that would fit in the brand had been fascinating. "They're a little less socially revered than butterflies, but serve the same useful purposes. Also, they have a unique navigation system, using the moon to guide them through the night. And unfortunately, the occasional porch light."

"The 'I like it' holds the most weight," Jim said examining it carefully. "And kinda apt considering our first discussions were about bugs. That's what got you really talking."

"Beetles, wasn't it? Maybe I should go with that," Gil waffled, smiling at Jim. "Except I think I see enough of them on scenes at work."

"Moths are good. And very you. Unique. There's probably some family legend behind it being included in the symbol rack. We'll have to try and look it up," Jim murmured finishing his last mouthful. 

"After cake, and possibly finishing the molding?" Gil offered. Just one night off. He'd have it put on his shoulder, he supposed. The small of his back was a good place, too, but there were so many nerves there, even if it was less likely to be seen. "The room looks really good."

Jim nodded. "It does. After cake though. Everything after cake."

Gil nodded in agreement. When it came to chocolate cake, he wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

Jim looked at his suit hanging up ready to get changed into at the last minute and listened to Gil shower. Gil's Presentation Cloak -- yet another gift, this time from his mother, would be the majority of what he would wear, and it was a rather stunning black velvet with the circle and swords of the Brass insignia embroidered in gold. So much for his idea of things being inconspicuous; his parents weren't allowing that. The small brand box stood separate with their choice ready made up for them and the Opener gleamed silver wrapped in a velvet cloth. He picked it up and looked at it. 

A couple of hours... If he did it right, Gil would be loose enough not to hurt at that too abrupt movement they did and he had witnessed... god was it only a week before?

It didn't feel like it was just a week before. It felt like he'd known Gil for forever, particularly since in just a few days, he and Gil had made amazing progress on the house. And Gil had definitely been working on him.

Jim wasn't blind to what he'd been doing and yeah he'd drunk less, ate better and was feeling rested with all that healthy exercise they were getting decorating. He reached in the drawer for the oil rather than the lube. Lube soaked in a lot quicker, the oil would last long enough to be effective. Ah. The shower was stopping. He hastily threw a towel over the bed so Gil could lie down.

A big part of him wanted to be doing it under better circumstances. Low candlelight kind of circumstances, not that they'd done that yet since Gil had a habit of starting to touch him and things just happening. Jim couldn't remember the last time he'd woken up to someone jerking him off. Gil had the sex drive of a twenty-one year old, and it showed.

The water was off now, and he could hear Gil moving around. Probably toweling himself dry, trying to tame his hair. Gil didn't usually put quite that kind of effort into how he looked every day, but this was a big thing, This was standing naked in front of a bunch of strangers.

He was glad the cloak was generously long and full. Hopefully Gil wouldn't be too cold. They wouldn't wait to come home. Once it was done, it was done.

"Gil? I don't think you should worry too much about your hair right now."

"I nicked myself shaving. I'm trying not to leave blood streaks on myself," Gil called through the door. "Dammit."

"Stick tissue on it,” Jim offered, even as he sprawled out next to the towel, "We have important things to do here."

"Okay..." The door opened a moment later, and Gil came out of the room naked. Jim shouldn't have been surprised to see a piece of toilet paper neatly folded and pressed against the inside of his thigh. "If I didn't like being shaved down there, I'd never do it again after tonight."

"You like being shaved down there?" Jim asked leaning up on one elbow. "Here, I've reserved a place for you." So he was biased but his Companion was the best looking in the world. And he was looking at his eyes when he thought that.

Gil eyed the towel for a moment, and then laid down, facing Jim. "I like the view," he said, looking at Jim's face as he settled in. "What's the reservation for?"

"Preparation," Jim said succinctly. "I promised, and... I want to be sure that it feels okay for you now at least." He smoothed his hand over still damp skin. "You want that?"

"I prefer it." And they had time to do it, another hour before they had to go. Gil had gotten nervous and started his shower early, tired of eyeing the clock. He shifted minutely closer to Jim. 

Jim leaned in to kiss him. "Good. It'll feel good done right," he promised as he stirred their interest with close contact. He knew it would and it could and he was determined to give Gil what advantage he could.

"This makes the shaving nicks worth it," Gil mused, shifting closer, almost off of the towel because he was sliding an arm around and underneath Jim to get more contact. He seemed a little nervous, but the whole thing had Gil's nerves wound up tight.

"I'll kiss them better," Jim promised, holding him close, giving him that contact. Gil needed it, and he could feel him relax a little as they moved close.

Skin on skin was an amazing feeling, and Gil wasted little time in pressing close, sliding one of his legs over Jim's legs, his other knee pressed up against Jim's. "That sounds like a nice promise."

"I'm going to be using the heirloom 'Juicer'," Jim murmured kissing him again. "Well. Eventually."

Gil's mouth curved up a little, and he kissed at Jim's jaw, turning his head. "We're working up to it, right? I had a little trouble with some parts of Practicum..."

"Working is the whole point. What problems did you have?" Jim murmured as he stroked hands down Gil's back and over his ass. He was hoping to get him used to it, gently before he started getting more intimate. 

"We used to practice simulated sex while clothed. I, uh... didn't always manage that with flying colors. If that was the only thing we were graded on in Practicum, then that would have been my only bad grade." He shifted his leg, and moved just a little, turning his hips like he was offering himself to Jim's touch.

"But you and I...?" Jim was worried suddenly. "You haven't been hiding that you've been upset or uncomfortable have you?" That would be the worst, if Gil was pretending.

Then he wouldn't know what to do because he'd been sure all along that Gil was lying about everything because he hadn't seemed like he was lying about anything. At any point in time. "Huh? No, no. I mean simulated sex, not... everything else we've done. It's different positions and different implications. Different..." Gil shifted his hips a little again, and he was definitely offering his ass to Jim's hands as they lingered over the upper curves. "Body language."

He was relieved. "Good because... you need to trust me for this, that's what it's all about." When Gil had fingered him for the first time he had nearly gone through the roof with shock and then pleasure.

It had helped that Gil had been sucking his dick at the time.

"I trust you." And hell if Jim could work out why, but Gil did. Gil trusted him, against all sanity. He seemed eager, too, probably because he preferred Jim to some stranger.

He guessed it was about expectations being built up. He just had this nagging feeling that somewhere, sometime he was going to fall well short of any expectation that his Companion had. 

"Good." He kissed him again and the hands smoothed over the swell of Gil's ass and in between a little, just so he could stroke over that area to get him ready even as he distracted him with kisses.

It seemed to be a good plan, because Gil eventually seemed to concentrate more on the kissing than the hands on his ass, slipping his tongue into Jim's mouth and groaning.

Jim was glad then he'd left the oil open on the side, because it was easy then to carry on kissing as he reached and dipped his hand in it before returning to let the excess drip into Gil's crack before starting move his fingers in after it. He could feel over muscle, over Gil's tailbone, and then in to trace around the rippled edges of puckered skin. He might've been worrying about Gil lying to him about his comfort level, but Gil groaned a little and stopped kissing Jim when Jim did that. "Oh..."

"Feels okay?" Jim asked in a soft voice against his ear. "You ever do this to yourself?" He stroked over his entrance gently, teasing at it. It was a little early in the process to use his tongue there. That could wait for another night.

A night with a better atmosphere for them both. "Sometimes. They liked to keep a close eye on us so we didn't do anything..."

"Mmm and maybe not form strong attachments to other Companions," Jim murmured, wishing he could turn off the cynicism for a moment. His finger teased at the oil-slicked entrance and pushed in a little and then out, and then repeated as he worked it with infinite patience.

Gil exhaled a huff of breath, and his fingers started to roam over Jim's shoulder. He shifted his leg over Jim's legs, and moved the other leg back, spreading. "Mmm. That feels... really good."

"That's the idea," Jim assured him, pushing in with one finger a little much as Gil had done to him. "Now you know why I reacted like I did before."

"I know why," Gil murmured, "but knowing and feeling are two different things. Now I feel why." He was trying hard to be coherent and witty, but his cheeks were starting to flush, and his dick was definitely hard and rubbing against Jim's thigh.

Jim had to try and stop smiling as reached for the oil again and allowed a generous amount to trickle in. More than they would have needed ordinarily, but he wanted this to last until Gil needed it. It made it easier to slip in two fingers and work the oil in deeper. "I'm pushing deeper okay? With more. If it hurts tell me to stop. Slow down." God, Gil looked fantastic like that, flushed with arousal, hard and pressed against him.

"How about 'don't slow down'?" Gil hitched his hips a little, between Jim's hip and Jim's hands. "I'm never going to be able to get the thong on like this."

"We'll make sure you've... dealt with that problem," Jim murmured. "You're relaxing in there. That's good. You think you're ready for our family venerable Juicer?"

Gil managed to huff out a laugh. "Maybe? If you try it slow." His voice was a little towards the good side of breathless. Gil didn't usually talk much during sex, and it was possibly because he had trouble stringing words together.

Jim could cope with that. He'd sterilized the Opener, and he'd been reliably informed that the fact it was silver stopped infection in itself. Still, he dipped it in the oil, pleased that the grooves seemed to collect extra liquid. It felt slippery in his hand but he very slowly nudged its tip to Gil's ass and pushed just a little. "It'll feel... big."

A shift, and Gil tucked his face in against Jim's neck, alternating between kissing and just breathing. "Okay." Okay, because Gil was apparently game for anything and Jim was going to be so careful with him.

He made sure he inched the object in with extreme care, pausing and kissing Gil, to let the muscles relax. It took patience, more patience than they would give him, he was sure. It also enabled him to brace Gil when he was wriggling. "It's going in..." he reassured. "How's it feel?"

"Huge." Gil was trying hard not to squirm and shift too much in any one direction, and by now his mouth was open against Jim's neck, breathing through his mouth and trying to suppress the noises he was making. "Fuck. Not... bad, just a lot."

"Trust me, it'll feel easier soon." Trust him. He knew that all right. Sometimes it had been true, sometimes it just... hadn't been. "Then wait until it moves. It'll loosen everything and then tonight will be a lot easier."

"Okay." It was hard to tell if Gil was uncomfortable or just enjoying himself too much, and while he couldn't see Gil's face, Jim liked the position they were in while he did that, Gil half-lying on top of him, holding onto him, and Jim didn't have to see the opener going into Gil.

He could feel Gil's reaction, hard against him and once he had the opener in he hooked his oil slick finger around the handle like protuberance at the bottom and twisted it very slowly and carefully. He kept telling himself it should feel good. It should feel more than good.

A noise that was something like a sigh and something like a groan sounded in Gil's chest, and his dick gave a twitch against Jim's thigh. "I think I know what the ridges are for...."

"Mmm. Feels good huh?" Jim said twisting some more. He could imagine the sensation and he couldn't hear any sound of pain in the groan. He added a gentle small rocking movement.

"Yeah, that..." Gil groaned, and his fingers moved a little twitchily against Jim's back. "Fuck. I didn't think this..."

"That it would feel like this?" Jim murmured as he worked the object into a more thorough back and forth motion. If he did that Gil would stay loose, would be okay when they pushed it in and hopefully if it hurt some, he wouldn't rip or tear. 

“This good." Gil was breathing hard, and if Jim had been him, he probably would've been jerking himself off, but Gil kept his hands on Jim's back and the back of Jim's shoulders. "Almost there."

"Hold it back, Gil... hold it back," Jim told him. He wanted to move the Opener a little more before then. He upped the pace and the depth of penetration hoping Gil would last a little longer.

Just a little longer. Not that he'd done so well the first time he'd had sex, but Gil had to last more than a couple of minutes like that. "Trying." Gil's fingers pressed tight against Jim's back, and the leg that he'd looped over Jim's legs shifted restlessly. "Slow down, stop, or I'm going to."

Jim reached down between them a moment to squeeze underneath Gil's balls just a little to rein it back in. "That should help... " He went back to slowly moving it again.

It was getting easier, and he was sure to pull it out more and more every time, and after anther minute or so more, it was probably enough. Gil's breathing was ragged, and he was trying hard not to come. It was probably cruel to keep him on edge.

Jim didn't want to be cruel and he kissed Gil again. "Okay, you can let go.... whenever you need to." It felt loose and mobile in him and that had been the whole point of the experiment.

He just hoped it would last until the ceremony and that no one would call him on it. Between that and the painkiller he was going to give Gil before the thing started, everything should be all right. "Needed to... about five minutes ago." There was a laugh in that groan, and then Gil was humping Jim's hip, still breathing hard.

They were both going to need showers.

The humping was enough friction to get him going and they could dart in and rinse off again. They'd be there in time and oh, god, that felt good with the oil residue making them slick and a real motion against each other as he waited for Gil to let go as he angled the Opener all over the place.

Gil went a little stiff, body jerking and tense, and his hips stilled finally. Faint wetness against Jim's skin turned to something thicker, a solider slick feeling, and Gil gave a stuttered groan, kissing shaking against Jim's neck. "Oh, god. Shit, that..."

"...hit the spot," Jim grinned a little and slowed the movement of the opener and then slowly drew it out. He'd have to clean it off but maybe he could request it was dipped in oil before they used it. "You'll tighten up some but you should be looser when they do it later. Might hurt some but it shouldn't damage."

"That was a creative way around the rules," Gil noted a little muzzily. His leg over Jim's had gone limp, and that felt good, that Gil trusted him that much to relax. It was a shame they had to go anywhere.

"Didn't hurt?" Jim had to check again, wishing they could just stay there and sleep or rest. He was meant to go to work the following day and for the first time he found the possibility that he might want to do something different. More important than work. He had no idea how his life had rearranged on him so quickly except that it had, and he was glad that he hadn't brought Gil home when he was in Jersey, because that was a time when he couldn't have afforded to be distracted the way he was now. That and Janice wouldn't have taken kindly to him basically dildo-fucking a young man in bed. 

"Didn't hurt."

"Good." Jim kissed him again. Janice had been a bit scathing of his bisexual leaning. He remembered one particularly hideous row when she had flown off the handle because she had accused him of fucking with his partner. With Mike.

It was only with the clarity of hindsight he realized it had been jealousy that had motivated the outburst. She'd been jealous of how much time they spent together, not angry or shocked. Some days, even the hindsight was a little hard to wrap his head around.

Gil gave a lazy stretch against him, and turned his head a little to make it easier for Jim to kiss him. "Having you as a Benefactor makes this worth it."

"I just think there should be a less damaging ceremony," Jim murmured. He couldn't say he was worried, that he was scared even for him because that would make things worse. "I know you can do it, I just think having to do it is wrong."

A couple more minutes and they should rinse off and change. Not long to the ceremony.

Gil made some noise of assent, and Jim decided he could eyeball the clock for another couple of minutes. For Gil as much as for himself.

* * *

Jim had to keep reminding himself not to accept the complimentary champagne that they were being served. All in all, Vegas went out for Companion Presentations in a much bigger and glitzier way than the one he had witnessed back at the CCCC when he had picked up Gil.

For once he was grateful for his mother's interference when she accosted them as they reached the building, because if he had gone with the choices he would have made, he would have been woefully underdressed. Instead, Gil was resplendent in his black and gold velvet cloak and he was now wearing the Brass family blazer jacket heavily embroidered and picked out with gems and matching pants. He protested he looked like a complete idiot, but when he entered the room, he realized that compared to the crowd there, his and Gil's outfits were tastefully restrained. 

The place glittered; colors blazed as Benefactors displayed their line affiliation to the Twelve in a bewildering degree of light and opulence.

Even so, Jim wasn't sure he was meant to be fondling Gil under the cover of that voluminous cloak. But it made the party and boring conversation more fun.

That and he was pretty sure his arm around Gil was the only thing keeping him standing. Gil felt loose limbed, and looked mellow, and it hadn't even been in his system long. Possibly, possibly he'd given him too much. Jim wasn't really sure, since the dose was relying on his statistics and not Gil's.

He wasn't sure what was the worst part -- the fact that everyone there, mostly strangers to him, were fawning over how Gil looked and how happy he must be, the fact that his parents were there, or the fact that Jim swore he'd seen Sam Braun in the crowd.

If Sam was there, Catherine would know within the week. 

He'd left Gil with his parents when he went to have a few quiet private words with the designated Opener for this Ceremony when he delivered the Heirloom device and the chosen brand. He mentally checked that he had put the soothing ointments in the car and tried to smile for what seemed like the thousandth picture his mother and father insisted on.

"You both look wonderful, sweetheart," his Mom was saying. "Is Gil all right? Gil dear, you with us? I know the thought of it is very distracting..."

Gil wasn't with them. Gil had started to finally be a little less than calm in the car, and he'd just about demanded that Jim give him the drugs that Doc Robbins had prescribed. Well, he had demanded, in a very polite, firm way. In a very Gil way, and he'd downed it with a gulp of stale flat soda that had been in the car since their drive from LA.

But Gil managed a nod, and leaned into Jim a little more. "I'm okay."

"I remember my Presentation," Rebecca reminisced. "I was terrified, but it was worth it. I remember thinking that, because it was the final link between us. There was no uncertainty anymore about who I was or where I was going to be. I had purpose..." She looked at Jim, her eyes trying to convey a message. "That's a very powerful thing you know."

Yeah, he knew. People would give up their lives for a sense of purpose. Or would take their own if they had none. It was strange to think of that.

"Yeah, I know, Mom. Gil's going to be okay. I'm going to take him off home the minute we've signed everything and have his ID."

"That's probably a good idea," his father chimed in, lowering the camera. Then he turned his head a little. "Oh, I think it's time, Jim. Do you want pictures of the ceremony?"

Jim shook his head. "I don't think I'm going to forget a moment of it, Dad," he said softly and turned to Gil. "I'll walk you to the stage, okay?"

Others were making their way there, the front row being for the Benefactors waiting for their Companions to be Presented. If Gil had to do this, he had to watch. For his sake.

There were four of them, four chairs roped off for the Benefactors and just the Benefactors. Gil was quiet and pliant, and just nodded when Jim offered to take him to the stage. They'd get through it -- they had to. And then it was over and they could make their own damn rules.

He steered him there and murmured. "You okay? I'm going to be there... I'm going to be watching, and I'll be there when it's over, okay?" 

One of the other Companions looked terrified as they took their position ahead of Gil at the side of the stage.

"I know. And then we'll go home, right?" Gil leaned into him a little more, but he seemed to understand that he was supposed to get in line, and stepped away from Jim a little unsteadily so he was second. Getting it over with, that was the spirit.

"We'll go home and then it'll all be official, and we can do anything you want okay?" Jim soothed. He kissed Gil, not caring about public decorum even as the introduction music swelled.

So what if he was seen as too touchy-feely. Benefactors were supposed to be enamored of their Companions, and he knew that once they started up the steps onto the stage, he had to step back and take his seat.

Jim knew that, and even when Gil broke the kiss and gave him a faintly wobbly doped up smile, he still didn't want to sit down. He wanted to be there with him. He wanted... god, he wanted to be the one that would use the damn 'Juicer' because he would use it and it wouldn't hurt. He wanted to be there to hold him if they had to brand him, hold him tight and try and soothe the pain away.

Instead he was down here watching as someone who moved with the same poise and bearing as Lady Heather took to the stage and stood at the front, waiting for a hush.

"Good evening Ladies and gentlemen, Benefactors and Companions, and welcome to this season's Vegas Presentation of Companions. Tonight, four Companions are to be Presented and joined legally and emotionally in this most ancient and binding of ceremonies. It is a solemn occasion, where the nature of Companionship is celebrated and the long history of Benefactors is remembered. This is an event that has spanned generations. This is a demonstration of the unconditional gift of themselves that the Companions make to reward the sacrifices of the Benefactors throughout history. They have always been the first to defend, the first to lead, the first to sacrifice and as a reward and responsibility they receive the unconditional support of their Chosen Companion. Someone who will be their support, their foundation in all that their Duty demands of them."

Jim found that he was the only one not clapping as the woman paused in her glowing speech.

He didn't care. He'd served his duty and suffered for it, and he'd kept doing what was right and just and every time he did it he got bit in the ass. Ironically, scum like Todd Piccone back in LA got luck's good hand in life's poker game, easy street and no sacrifice at all. And no one else in the room seemed to realize it. No one else in the room seemed to be bothered by the looks on the Companion's faces.

All of them looked a little proud of themselves, and most of them looked scared. Gil was smiling, but that was the Percocet talking. And Jim missed the last blah blah part of the speech, because the masked 'Opener' was walking in front of each Companion and unfastening their cloaks.

He had to clench his hands so hard his short nails were digging into his palm. Gil looked gorgeous but oddly lost up there. The young girl had gone traditional and was bare breasted and that caused a mutter of approving comment, but he was just staring, staring at Gil, catching his eyes, willing him to look at him.

His eyes were down, though, and he didn't lift them. Looking at Jim would probably mean looking out at everyone that was sitting behind him, and that was more than enough. They announced the family name of the girl who was going first, and Gil shifted his position a little, standing up straighter.

Jim wasn't going to watch what happened to the rest of them. He was going to keep his eyes on Gil.

There was a suitable fanfare but it didn't quite drown out the gulping sob of the first girl before they moved to Gil and the masked Opener picked up and brandished the gleaming silver object.

"To the Family Brass of the Lineage Broesian, Companion Gil is Presented. With your own instrument we verify that he is pure and worthy to be affiliated to a Benefactor's blood." Like his blood made him any different to anyone else. Like he had requested Gil to be tested when he would do anything to avoid this. He watched as Gil was bent over by an insistent push and he wanted to growl, to stop them.

Gil was his, and this pure and worthy shit was really starting to get on his nerves. It was a miracle that Gil wasn't a bag of insecurities if he'd been hearing that all of his life and remembering what had happened to him. Pure and worthy, hell, Gil was probably a better person than he was. He was the 'knight in dirty baseball cap', as Annie had called him. 

He didn't even flinch when the man shoved it in, but bent down like that, Jim couldn't see Gil's expression. He knew it hurt. Despite everything, how could it not? Gil wasn't that experienced to be loose enough to take it with no resistance. People were applauding as Gil straightened and it made him blindingly furious all of a sudden. Couldn't they see what they were applauding? An act that under other circumstances would have them in jail?

There was blood on Gil's lip and a strain in his expression and he wanted to stop this.

It would've been easier if he weren't seated between two of the other new Benefactors. They didn't seem nervous or strained or worried, no, they were clapping and happy because they... Because they were too fucking stupid to know any better. Gil folded his hands loosely in front of himself, some attempt to preserve modesty, because the Opener had untied one side of the thong he was wearing to cover himself. That was somehow more humiliating for Jim than if Gil were just up there naked.

He hardly noticed that the first girl was being taken over to the side to be branded.

The first he knew about it was the scream. She screamed as if it had been wrenched from her and he saw the Benefactor on his right get up and walk at an unhurried pace to go to the desk where they would sign the forms together. Walk as if it were nothing. The girl had tears running down her face, and she looked barely able to stand even as her mark was clearly displayed to the crowd.

But Jim was watching Gil even as there was more applause as one of the others was 'Opened'. He watched as he was steered over towards the glowing brazier. It was all for show most of the time. And he wanted this to be for show. He wanted this to be an elaborate joke but they were holding Gil and lifting the brand and... He shouldn't be able to hear the sizzle of hot metal on flesh, but the smell of burnt meat was there.

He was standing up before it was even finished, and Gil was making a sound -- not a scream, not a groan, because Jim was pretty familiar with moans and groans, but something that reminded him of a wild animal being smothered. A deep-voiced cat trapped in a bag, and the sound went on because the brand was pressed precisely against his skin a second time before he was turned to be presented.

It wasn't even like anyone could see what the damn symbol was going to be. It was burnt flesh for the moment, and Gil was pushed along to walk off of the stage when he tripped.

Jim was up and moving towards him before he was signaled, and he pushed past the ushers with a complete disregard for protocol. He reached Gil even as he was struggling to get up and very gently slipped his arm under his shoulder. "I'm here, Gil, I'm sorry, I'm here now, okay? Just a little more."

Gil clung to him with the arm that wasn't attached to his branded shoulder, and struggled a little more to get his footing. He didn't say anything, though, he just hung onto Jim, so he was going to go to the table with him while Jim signed the papers. An usher hurried over to them with Gil's cloak.

Jim practically snatched it off of him, and held on to it as they rather perfunctorily slapped on a dressing to the brand even as they were moving. He was practically holding Gil up as he signed the papers impatiently and while they were rubber stamping everything, he helped Gil put his cloak on again. "It's okay, Gil, we're going home, it's fine."

"Sir, we need you to stand away from him for a moment so we can get his picture?" One of the aids said a little tentatively. He had a camera that was attached to the laptop on the side table. There was a printer, and some kind of press, and they apparently made the ID up right there.

Jim took a moment to wipe Gil's face of blood and straighten his hair if only because he knew Gil would be mortified to have an ID like that. He needn't have bothered as the moment he stepped away, two assistants hastily wiped off Gil's face and brushed his hair and as he looked up, a little dazed, there was a flash, and a photograph was taken, even as Jim went back to holding him.

The man with the set up smiled at him, and Jim found another sheet of paper thrust into his hands even as Gil leaned into him. “If you wish, your Companion can take your last name.”

"He doesn't get one of his own?" Jim asked even as he scanned the document. "Fine, he can have mine rather than do without."

Privately he wasn't going to have Gil going around without a second name as if he were only pet or something. He'd give him one of his own if he could but belonging to him seemed to be something important to Gil so he wouldn't deny him the name. It would make applying for jobs easier at least.

"Very good, sir." The man typed it in, and checked Jim's signature. Gil was breathing unevenly, and leaning into Jim's side by the time that the man turned around with one gleaming ID card that bore the mark for a Companion, Gil's picture, and the name 'Gil Brass'.

"Thank you," Jim said taking it and managing not to be too impolite though he was angry as all hell with the system, the Presentation, the whole thing that put Gil through this just so society would recognize him somehow. "C'mon, Gil... we're going home okay?"

"Mmhmm." Gil straightened up a little, and seemed ready to put one foot in front of another, and they could slip out the back exit, except that his parents were headed towards them.

"Congratulations, sweetheart!" his mother enthused. "And Gil, you did ever so well."

"Well done, son," his father added clapping him on the shoulder. It was all he could do not to lash out at him.

"Mom, Dad... thanks, but not now, okay?"

He could keep walking down that back hallway, but he had a feeling that they were going to follow him, or worse, make him socialize. "No, son, you should be proud! Gilbert did so well, except for the..." Part where he tripped on stage, sure. That wasn't exactly graceful, and Companions were supposed to be graceful.

Jim didn't give a fuck. Jim didn't give a fuck, and his cell phone was vibrating inside of his pocket.

Jesus Christ couldn't he get a break? It could wait until he got to the car. "Gil and I are going home." He said that with all the restrained authority he could muster.

"You should at least just exchange pleasantries with the others," his mother warned. "Gil will be better for sitting down for a bit. I know I was."

Jim practically whirled on his mother. "Mom, I'm not even going to argue with you... you don't have a f-... a damn clue what you're talking about. It's very different for men, and a lot more painful and dangerous. And if I stay and socialize I'm gonna end up telling them what a f-...a barbaric ritual this is and how it should be abolished, and everyone who sat and applauded the willing infliction of pain and humiliation on another human being should be put in jail!"

His cell phone was still vibrating away, and now his mother looked hurt. And Gil was still leaning into him, loose-limbed and as calm as he really wasn't only probably because he'd had the good drugs before hand. He hadn't meant to hurt his mother like that, but his father clenched his jaw once, and put an arm over his mother's shoulders. 

"James..."

"Dad. Don't. Just... don't. If I had my way this day would never have happened no matter what anyone said. I agreed to this for Gil's sake and that's as far as it goes," Jim snapped back. "I'm as angry as hell, and I don't want to say something to you that I'll regret. But before you tell me that it's necessary, that it's only something minor I'll tell you that you don't know what you're talking about."

And they were just staring at him. It wasn't the time or place to have that conversation. They'd get in contact with him again before they went home. It wouldn't change that he wasn't the kind of son that they'd wanted, the kind that had trust in the system and believed in all of that Benefactor shit. It was easier to turn than it was to hear his father's rebuttal, and Gil walked with him when he moved.

His phone had stopped ringing, but it started again.

He had pushed out into the cool air of the evening, before he fumbled in his pocket almost automatically and answered the phone in a very short tone. "Brass."

"It's Catherine. We're all tapped out, Jim, and I know this is the last night of your vacation, but we really need you to call in. There was a gang shootout off of the strip, we have four fatalities..."

Fuck. He looked at Gil. "I can't, Cath. Any other night than tonight. I'll come in later but I can't right now."

Gil was pressed up close to his side, and he was shaking. Of course he was shaking, he was nearly naked and probably in shock and it was cold out once the sun went down. "Is something wrong?"

"It's a... family thing," Jim said as they made it to the car. Gil was his family now; he was responsible for him. They shared everything and he was hurt and needed him. "Give me the address and I'll get there as soon as I can, but I've got to get this... under control first."

And his temper, otherwise the first stupid comment of the night and some would have their head bitten off.

He was somehow managing to talk on the phone and open the passenger side door to ease Gil down into the passenger seat. There was some groggy signing going on, and it always took Jim a minute to work out what Gil was saying. ~Go if you need to, I'm okay.~ Except that he wasn't and while that was stubbornly brave of Gil to suggest that...

"Uh... Okay." Catherine probably couldn't conceive of Jim having a family to give him trouble. "It's 28th and Rodeo."

"It won't be immediately," he warned. Not until Gil was at home, sleeping, resting. "But I'll be in."

He didn't know why he was even offering.

No one else would. Nick would've politely told Catherine to kiss his ass if he'd had a family emergency, but Brass was 'hard ass Brass', known for overtime and not having any connections. Maybe he needed to wean them off of using him as an overtime crutch. Maybe he needed to wean himself off of that crutch, too. 

"Thanks, Brass. I've got to go now."

So did he. He had responsibilities. He had Gil and somehow work was not the most important thing any more and no one could be more surprised than you. "Yeah, bye." He hung up and got in the car. "Gil. We're going home, okay? I'm not going anywhere until you are home and comfortable."

"Okay." It was mumbled and quiet, and Gil closed his eyes. If he wasn't seat belted in tight, he probably would've fallen out of the passenger seat and lolled onto Jim's lap. "I want to go home and sleep. My shoulder hurts."

"I know. I've got some cream here that'll take the sting out," Jim said fumbling for the ointments he had shoved in the glove compartment. There was one. Fuck. "Lets see your shoulder."

Gil leaned forwards against the seat belt, and turned his shoulder towards Jim. "It's over. We can go home now and I'm yours and..." There was a noise like a chuckle, even if it was a fuzzy one. "Life can start."

"Yeah, Gil, we can start," Jim reassured and squeezed out a dollop of the pain relief cream and very gently smoothed it in. "You have my name, your ID and... me. It's gonna be okay."

“Yeah." Gil seemed to find a smile, and he was quiet while Jim rubbed the cream in around the edges of what looked like an agonizing ripple of charred skin. He had some aloe in the fridge at home that had numbing properties, and that would work better than the cream that was probably going to make the thing feel even hotter as time passed. 

"They'll need me in, but I'm taking you home, putting you to bed," Jim said in a low voice. He wiped off the excess and turned the engine. "The painkillers helping?"

"Oh yeah." Gil sat back, and started to absently try to retie his thong. "Feels okay. Everything's blurry."

"Blurry's better than it hurting," Jim replied as he set off. How long across town? twenty minutes. "You sleep, Gil, try and sleep okay?"

"Okay. Wake me up when... We get home?" Gil would be out in another few minutes. And Jim could take care of them and then he'd go to work.

"Yeah, Gil, when we get home."

When all he wanted to do was stay there with him, instead he'd be turning around and heading back out again. God help the rest of the night shift.

* * *

It hurt to lie on his back, and that was how he was used to sleeping. Or, ironically, on the side that he was branded on. So he was having to lie on the other side or on his stomach and it ached and no matter how tired he was, he apparently wasn't tired enough to rest well.

Gil wasn't sure when Jim had left, but he had. Work had called.

He understood that. In fact, there had been a half woozy drugged side of him that had half imagined that Jim would have driven right there with him in tow, wrapped in a velvet cloak, but he hadn't. He had brought him home and he had vague memories of being carried, of being kissed gently and a voice that had murmured even when he couldn't catch the words.

He liked the sound of Jim's voice, the timbre of his sounds. Gil just didn't like it when there was that miserable undertone. Jim either had felt bad or didn't want to go in to work, or both, and Gil probably hadn't helped when he'd clung to Jim until sleep had claimed him.

No matter what Jim said, he was a good Benefactor. A good man.

It confused him why Jim seemed to think otherwise. That he did was obvious. He had come out and said it, several times in fact trying to convince Gil that he was and yet...

Gil knew all the thought Jim had put in to preparing for the Presentation when he had accepted the inevitable. Things he knew other Companions didn't always experience. Jim was careful with him and wanted to try to make things better. Gil half remembered Jim yelling at someone at the presentation, and all Gil could think of still had been that he'd tripped and probably shamed Jim. Except he hadn't, because Jim didn't think that way.

Jim didn't seem to care how he was as long as he was happy and that was just... strange. He had been taught to be the person giving happiness, and all Jim seemed to want was for him to be happy. Jim didn't care if he tripped and shamed him. Jim wouldn't have cared if he'd screamed, but in a strange way that had made him all the more determined to be strong and together.

His shoulder was throbbing again and the house seemed empty without Jim there.

But that was all right. Things were working and Jim hadn't rejected him. He was alone, but... But he understood work and the call of it and more importantly the importance of collecting, finding and interpreting the evidence. If he was lucky, he could see about applying for a job there. In the lab, so he could at least work near Jim. So he could see that side of Jim, along with everything else.

Gil wanted that. He didn't think it was just Companion Dependency or any of the other fancy names that the social psychologists had tagged onto his kind. He thought it was real. He'd known it was real since he was a kid and a stranger had smiled at him and looked him in the eye instead of avoiding looking at him, stealing pitying glances or whispering out of earshot saying 'Yes, that's the one. He's the ...tainted one. No one will have him now...'

It worried him, even though Jim had Chosen him. And every time he'd brought it up even circumspectly, Jim had changed the subject. He didn't dwell on it, and there was a way in how Jim was doing it that he didn't seem to be doing it on purpose. It just wasn't a factor for Jim. Gil wanted, liked that, liked how he was more important than his problems were.

He could still remember another visiting CCCC trainer who had gone to Lady Heather after watching him and said, "And he was Chosen even when the Benefactor knew? Remarkable." It had sunk into his mind, chilled him. Made him want and crave the security of the brand and of the ritual for all its unpleasantness. The mark said, 'I belong' as much as it said 'I belong to'. A sore shoulder was a small price. 

He wondered when Jim would be home. He would be tired. That was all right. Gil was tired and he could probably sleep more. If he happened to wake up before Jim, he'd get out of bed and make him something to eat. Something good and healthy, since Jim would be going back to work that night. 

It was just part of what Gil was supposed to do, expected to be able to do, and there was a pride in the ability. He'd tried so hard in everything and it hadn't ever seemed enough because of one thing, because of three human beings that Jim was vehement in saying didn't deserve to live. 

And in a way, Gil was glad Jim hadn't picked him up when he was sixteen, because as eager as he'd been, he'd still been having problems at the time. There had been a lot of long talks with Lady Heather, and one tense occasion that Gil could remember where he'd threatened something rash. Something stupid, and it had been after that when she'd suggested he start actually working so he had a sense of purpose in life other than Companionship.

Now it was easy to say he wouldn't have done anything, but then it had been a real enough pain. A real enough threat. A real enough scalpel stolen from the science lab and waved at the calm Lady trainer in his desperation. If Jim had been how he had said he was then, and Gil as he was, it would have been more volatile than any of his homemade science experiments.

Janice added into the mix would've been like throwing a flame-thrower into the experiment. 

No, this... this, just he and Jim, and work sounded good to Gil. He liked it conceptually and in reality, even as he turned it over and over in his head. The next room they were going to work on was Jim's bedroom, and Gil could start throwing the drop clothes over things, move things down to 'his' room once Jim had gone back to work.

He stirred as there was a noise downstairs. Keys in the door, the door closing and footsteps. They barely paused downstairs, but headed up as if that had been their only destination. Jim.

He twisted and shifted in the bed, making himself sit up. Movement made his head hurt a little, but he wanted to at least greet Jim, to at least seem awake.

The door opened and Jim peered in. "Hey," he said, seeing him sitting up. "You're awake. I was hoping to get back before you woke."

"I just woke up a few minutes ago." It wasn't a lie. Gil just hadn't looked at a clock, and as Jim walked into the room, he sat up a little more. "You look tired."

Jim was ironically limping. "Yeah, I am a little. Messy one. Gang war, trace over everywhere, neighborhood's in an uproar. I can't blame Cath for calling me in. Damage control for the media. How's the shoulder?"

"Warm." Sore, but that was a given. He'd been branded. Gil shifted the sheets back and started to make a careful attempt to stand, not caring that he was naked. "How's your knee?"

"I suppose it's ironic that I ended up twisting it when a suspect surfaced in the middle of a crime scene," Jim replied. "That'll teach me to lie to the boss. You don't have to get up, I was just going to get undressed."

"I was going to help," Gil offered, but he did sit down on the edge of the bed. "You only gave me the one dose. Maybe you can take one of the other and sleep it off before work."

"You need it more. I can put some of that pain reliever gel on it. It'll be fine. Oh, did I leave the aloe up here? I'll put some more on you in a minute." Jim was toeing off his shoes, and flinging his jacket over the back of a chair.

"I'm not going to work tomorrow, Jim. Tonight. I can take aspirin if it bothers me," Gil countered. "I'll get it for you, and you finish undressing. I'm not going to let you guilt yourself."

Jim looked at him sternly. "I'm thinking a hot metal burn is a damn sight more painful than a gimpy knee," he replied.

"I can lie in bed all day if I need to. You can't," Gil reasoned a little hazily as he walked past Jim. There was a glass in the bathroom, and he could fill it up with water and grab the pills while he was there.

By the time he came back, Jim was down to his boxers and tonight he didn't strip them off. Gil wondered if there was any reason why or it was just being careful.

"Well technically I will be lying in bed all day, I'll just be up all night," Jim responded.

He wasn't sure why Jim hadn't taken off his boxers. Maybe that was a way of telling Gil 'no', which was all right because while he had the energy to get up and get Jim a painkiller, he didn't have enough energy for anything else. "Nightshift semantics. We both know what I meant..." Gil held out the glass of water to his Benefactor where he was sitting on the edge of the mattress, and offered the pill.

Jim hesitated a moment and then took it, and the glass and gulped it down. "Yeah. So you're going to rest up a lot tomorrow right? Or you want to go out and give Vegas the benefit of a newly ID'd Gil Brass." He paused a moment. "I... uh... elected for you to have my last name rather than none."

"I know. I was admiring the card when I got up to go to the bathroom," Gil murmured. He took the glass back and put it aside before moving to crawl back into bed. "I'm going to rest. And check the want ads. And possibly study some maps before I go anywhere."

“Maybe I should get Warrick to give you a tour of Vegas,” Jim suggested even as he moved closer.

"Warrick?" Gil shifted close, lying on his good side. And even though he didn't like that side, being face to face with Jim was nice and made it worth it. He slid an arm around Jim, and his other hand slipped down to rest over the edge of the waistband of Jim's boxers. He was careful with where he put his legs, trying not to knock against Jim's knee.

"Warrick Brown. Another CSI. Vegas born and raised. Knows the gambling culture, the casino culture all of that. He's good. A little competitive, but they're good guys."

"Oh. I'm not too interested in gambling, so..." Gil shifted, and pressed his forehead lightly against Jim's. He could sleep like that, easily.

"Stay in Vegas and it's part of the air," Jim replied. He kissed him gently. "I'm sorry I left you last night. I didn't want to, Gil."

"I know. But work is... work." Work was work. Work was something Gil understood. "Anyway, you came back. You should probably rest."

"You're right, I should. It's hard to, though, the case keeps replaying over in my head," Jim replied slipping an arm carefully around him so he wasn't hurt.

"Why don't you tell me about it?" It was an easy, almost careful suggestion. "If that would help."

"It might... if I knew where to start. And that's the problem. We can't find where it began, though there's a big pile of evidence where it ended. With a lot of bodies. It looks like gangs, but the gang insignias or tells have been stripped off. Why would they do that? Gang's want people to know it was them. We don't know if they were all members of one gang or two... All we know is that they're very dead."

"Was everyone missing tells?" Gil turned his head a little, so he could see some or part of Jim's face while they talked.

"Yeah, which shows that someone walked away from there. There's evidence of hand-to-hand violence. Bad, but nothing that an ER wouldn't deal with. I left Al digging out bullets. There were handguns at the scene, which is pretty odd. Most gangs I know? They'd take the piece of their own or an enemy. Guns are hard to come by, especially ones off the books."

"Mmm." Gil closed his eyes for a moment, trying to imagine the scene. "Don't... think in... terms of justifying why a gang member would do it. Look at what was done and then think of whom. It might not be gangs -- someone walked away and didn't do the things gang members would. Maybe the survivor isn't a gang member."

"Yeah, that's where I was going with it," Jim replied sounding pleased. "Only the Sheriff is already using it as a means to deplore gang violence so there's a pressure to investigate that angle first. I heard Cath do her 'We can't make assumptions with the evidence' speech at least three times to various lackeys."

"Maybe someone is taking gang violence into their own hands," Gil suggested, half jokingly. He liked it when Jim sounded pleased like that. "I think sheriffs exist to play justice with a PR angle."

"It could be a vigilante. There's no lack of people with a grudge against the Gangs and a lack of faith in the justice system of Vegas," Jim murmured. "I think I'll check ballistics. Got a feeling the bullets and guns won't match."

"Sounds like a good hunch," Gil murmured, letting his fingers wander a little, rubbing over Jim's hip. "You'll do good."

Jim smiled. "You do that and I'll forget that I wore boxers to stop me forgetting you were hurt," he murmured.

"Oh, so that's why you did it." Gil turned his head and brushed a kiss against Jim's mouth. "I thought it was a very thin chastity belt for yourself. If I was more awake, I'd do away with it."

"Not immediately, because Companion or not you don't get used to it that easily. And I want our first time to be... right."

Gil could appreciate that although how it was going to be better than when they had loosened things before hand... well.

"It will be. Whenever we do that. Until then, you'll have to mind my roaming hands." He pitched his voice low, and snuck his fingers beneath the waistband a little before he stopped.

Jim just raised his eyebrows at him and smiled. "I can deal with that. Tomorrow you take it easy, and then maybe when I get in we can finish that bit in the downstairs bathroom." Jim’s own fingers smoothing down Gil's back made the words a lie. They seemed to know what they would be doing instead of decorating.

Even if Jim wasn't willing to admit that his fingers knew, Gil knew. Gil noticed, so he smiled to himself and closed his eyes. "That sounds good." And he had to stop talking to Jim or they'd never get to sleep.

Jim must have had the same thought because there was an unexpected soft kiss over one of his closed eyelids and then a murmur of "Night Gil," before Jim settled into a position to sleep.

And once again, there was no alcohol on his breath and another small victory there for Gil.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

Jim had had some bad days in his life, but though this wasn't the worst, it was definitely one of the shittiest. He knocked back another shot with the serious look of someone on a mission to drown themselves in alcohol as efficiently as possible.

He was succeeding too.

Funny how what he had thought was going to be the big problem, which was taking on his Companion had been the one good thing recently, and his relationship with his parents, usually so stable had taken a dramatic nosedive and plunged into a spectacular crash-landing.

They'd stayed in Vegas, and while they were still there the DNA test results came through on Ellie.

It wasn't a surprise to him at least and not really to his parents but it forced the issue everyone had been pretending was not a big deal to come crawling out from under its shameful rock into the open.

The resulting discussion hadn't been pretty.

It hadn't been a discussion, not really. His parents were making a sane point, Jim knew that, but dammit, Ellie was still his daughter. He'd raised her and that had to count as something except it didn't. She wasn't going to get a trust and she was going to be cut off, bam, just like that. Trap door opening cut off. 

The best-worst part had been their timing. Coming to him just when he'd been up and awake and contemplating going in to work. Gil had made some interesting omelet thing with chopped grilled vegetables and cheese, and it was a good start to the day. That and flirting over breakfast, and sitting Gil down to make sure his brand was healing and putting aloe on it. Then his parents had knocked, and it was all downhill from there.

As far as arguments went, that had been a marathon, too, with Gil trying to support him without really knowing all of the story and too much of the legalese.

The problem with his parents were that as long as he was doing what they thought was the right thing, they were proud of him. When he wasn't or they didn't understand, he was disturbed rather than having an actual viewpoint. It was bad enough that Janice had pushed him away and practically cut him off from his little girl, but now he was finding that it didn't matter what he wanted; the Family as a legal entity had a legal imperative to preserve the direct bloodline. 

He had announced he wasn't interested in marriage, or anything like that and they had tried persuading, and cajoling, then shouting and issuing ultimatums. When his father started to berate him about shirking his Duty, he had nearly exploded. He had been so close to hitting something, someone. So damn close, and his dad had known he had crossed a line there.

What did his father know of Duty? Career Officer with enough rank to be most useful in 'headquarters' when the shit hit the fan.

And they all knew something had happened, but Jim hadn't ever talked about it, and his father had still known he'd crossed a line. Gil had tried to step in and suggest that there were so many other possibilities about what to do, and that hadn't helped because Jim's mind kept leaping back to Ellie. He'd held her the day she'd been born. He'd taught her how to ride a bike and he'd tried in between work hours to be a father to her, a good father and now it didn't matter. He had no rights to see her because he wasn't her biological father.

And then he'd had to go to work like that

He'd gone to work with his father's final parting shot that they would invoke the Family right to surrogacy if he was truly serious about not marrying and Jim had nearly staggered out of the house at the shock of that last retort. He would have no choice. A daughter or son would be born, of his blood and raised probably by his parents or sometimes by another branch of the family so they would have siblings.

But whatever the decision, he would have no choice. And that always pissed him off.

It had been really unfortunate that Sara had been in one of her pissy moods all night as well and they had been out on a pretty clear abuse and murder call. Any other time he rolled with it. Took her punches, let her spout off, let her rant and rave at him for somehow being complicit in the victims death and implying that he knew nothing about fear, nothing about brutality....

And he'd just snapped. He hadn't meant to, but he'd snapped and he hadn't snapped like that in years. It had probably been building that long. And he wasn't stupid -- he knew why she acted like that sometimes with cases. She'd been there, done that and because he acted the way he did she just... made assumptions. She got angry and lashed out and he'd lashed back. She'd probably never even realized that she was venting her stress at him like that, because he'd let her.

She'd probably never do that again. Catherine had gotten involved once they'd arrived back at the lab and...

He was here instead of at home and there was a sense of a coiling bitterness in his stomach that he was trying to drown with liberal application of scotch before it could get a grip on all of him. He didn't like to disappoint Cath, because he liked his work and he'd been pleased he was good at it, brought something to it all and he didn't like the fact he'd snapped at Sara although it was a minor miracle he hadn't done so before.

Jim also didn't like the fact by sitting here he was letting Gil down. But then, he reasoned, if he went home and shouted, he'd hate himself even more. If that were possible.

It didn't really seem possible. But he would've gone home in a foul mood and Gil was still hurt. He had a fucking brand on his shoulder, and he was playing at manly and sucking it up, but Jim knew that just throbbed and ached and hurt no matter how Gil was acting.

He didn't want to go home and yell at Gil or get into some weird argument because anything was going to set him off, even Gil trying to be helpful. Maybe he just needed to pick up a one-night stand and knock her up and get it over with. At least then he'd have an heir, and a little choice about it. 

When Jim noticed his drink was empty, he scowled and signaled to the bartender for another. Not nearly drunk enough yet. Because with these black moods came the worst nightmares. Nightmares that would have him screaming most of the fucking night if he didn't damp them down somehow. He needed to be drunker, and he needed to go home and he needed to sleep alone tonight. No telling what he could do.

Gil really didn't need that kind of shit. He didn't need to figure out that there was a lot more wrong with Jim than whatever he thought he was up to handling, and Jim honestly didn't want Gil to know it because Gil was something special to him. Gil meant something, and he didn't want to fuck it up.

He felt like a damn fool for resisting so long. He remembered the feeling; he'd clung to that feeling when things were bad, that somewhere in the world he'd done something right. He'd made the right decision, he'd felt it with a certainty that couldn't be faked and that was what had made him so determined not to make Gil into any sort of a slave. He deserved more. He deserved more than maybe he knew how to give anymore.

He drank some more of the cheap whiskey. No use wasting money on a first class ticket to oblivion when you could travel economy. He could probably call a cab to get home, or he could just walk. One way or another, he'd get home. Just then it didn't matter because he had to think about what he was going to do but he didn't want to. He wanted to go home and sleep, and he was maybe going to take advantage of Gil's training and just let Gil do his Companion thing. That weird thing when he got quiet and he was just there and supporting.

That was... nice. Just somehow right. He wasn't completely alone and Gil knew how to fill a place with his presence, even if he were silent. He wanted him then with a tugging pull inside that astounded him. He wanted to see him, see that little quirk he did with his mouth, the way his eyes followed him, blue and watchful. He just wanted to know that someone gave a shit about him for no other reason that he was Jim. Not Jim Brass, father of an Heir to be, or Jim Brass, workaholic, or even Jim Brass, Benefactor. Just him.

And Gil did that. It was kind of weird, that the Benefactor part didn't matter to Gil or didn't seem to. He didn't want him for his 'power' or that imaginary wealth or anything other than for himself. Gil wanted Jim, but Gil didn't know about the nightmares or the fact that Jim had a temper or anything else. Gil just knew he tended to be a drunk.

Well, that was what Gil was going to get when Jim got home.

He looked at his once again mysteriously empty glass, not even remembering drinking that one. That was usually the sign he was reaching his limit.

Limits were made to be broken. One more and then he'd go home. Just one more.

* * *

He was pissed off.

It had been a while since he'd been pissed off like that. The last time had been at work and he'd reorganized the chemical closet alphabetically because he wasn't on a case, and then when he'd been put on a case he'd just about tried to wring the suspect out himself. Now there was nothing to do but pick up with painting and try not to let the anger bleed too much into worry. Jim was at work. Jim was okay, even if he was late and it was getting on to nine. Jim had taken the car and he hadn't done anything stupid or gotten himself hurt, or anything else that Gil was worrying about because Jim's parents seemed too damn stubborn to understand what the problem was.

He hadn't helped matters after Jim had left by telling Jim's father to go fuck himself.

The stupid thing was Gil's mother was a Companion and she had to be reading Jim, but somehow she was missing it. Okay, he hadn't exactly told Richard to fuck himself but he had been a lot more forceful that he had anticipated.

Gil had seen Jim's face when they told him about the DNA results. He looked like someone had just told him someone he loved had died. Jim couldn't have looked any more hurt if his father had take a scalpel and shoved it in his chest and had a good rummage around in there for his heart before yanking it out. Even though Jim had known, Gil understood at least that Jim felt he had a daughter, she was his until reality caught up with him.

His parents, on the other hand, were assuming Jim had spent years getting used to the idea and was indifferent to his not-daughter's fate. And he hadn't, and Gil had tried to explain that to them but they'd just told him that Jim had known for years and was just in denial. No matter what Gil had said, they'd just barreled on going on about the Family and how Jim needed to move on, until Gil had finally told them that he didn't care what they thought, his concern was for Jim and if Jim wasn't having the idea of having an heir, then Gil wasn't going to serve as the backdoor way to get him to agree. They'd upset Jim and they were not going to bring it up again.

Oddly, that had made Rebecca smile, pat him on the hand and after whispering in her husband's ear, they had left. Gil got the oddly disturbing feeling they were approving of what they thought to be blind loyalty to his Benefactor.

He wasn't entirely sure whether he should be complimented or insulted. He settled on anxious as he waited past time for Jim to come home, and there was no sign of him.

So nine had come and gone and Gil was taking a break from painting to putter around a little, cleaning up and ready, restlessly waiting to hear Jim's key in the door. He was going to wait another hour, and then he was going to call the lab.

It was possible that he had stayed on for a double but Jim had promised he would phone and tell him. Jim phoned and talked to him from work anyway, which had surprised him. When he was driving places, stopped for a bite to eat. Maybe just for a couple of minutes but Gil had got the impression he just phoned because there was actually someone there he could talk to.

Someone who wanted to hear how he was doing and what was going on, a sounding board for cases. A familiar voice, and Gil appreciated those calls. It broke up the tedium of trying to put together a resume that was good with some of his academic research and his glowing recommendations, and painting and... It was good to hear from Jim.

He hadn't heard from Jim since he'd left.

That was why the knock on the door made him get to his feet before his brain kicked on.

Jim wouldn't knock, so it wouldn't be Jim. He wasn't sure who would be. Jim wouldn't knock on the door of his own house so it wouldn't be him. This time of the morning? Who would come around now? Salesman, door-to-door, maybe someone who knew Jim's shifts? 

If it was someone who knew Jim then maybe they knew if he were staying on late at work.

The knocking came again more insistently, and then a voice. "I'm not going away until you open up and talk to me, Jim! ...Brass? You in there?"

Gil peered out of the peephole, and then stepped back for a moment before he started to unlock the locks. It was a woman, someone who knew Jim and thought he was home then. 

He opened the door.

"Hey J..." The woman stopped mid word and took a breath. "Who are you?" she asked without any other form of small talk or courtesy. "What are you doing in Jim's house?"

He hadn't been expecting that question, hadn't been expecting to be asked that, or anything else. She was pretty, in an unconventional way, and she was just standing there on the porch looking pissed off and relaxed all at once. "I'm Gil Brass. He hasn't come home yet. I thought he might be pulling a double shift."

She was frowning at him. "You're what? A younger brother?" she asked still looking at him intently.

He started to open his mouth, and then closed it. Dammit, he didn't know if Jim wanted them to know or not or what and now he was having to make a decision that he wasn't comfortable with and didn't feel like he had the authority to make. "Can I ask why you're here?"

"Well, I'm looking for Jim. Who isn't working a double." The dark haired woman paused again. "Absolutely no family resemblance. Jim doesn't have brothers. No half brothers either. That makes you a mystery, Gil 'Brass'."

"Then if he's not at work, I don't know where he is." And Jim had the car, so he couldn't look for him. He wasn't sure if Jim had his cell phone with him, let alone -- no, he hadn't taken it with him so trying to call him was a no. He'd left his pager, too. It was just a wonder that he'd taken his car keys. "He should've been home by now."

"You sound worried," the woman said and Gil realize that rather bizarrely she was almost interrogating him. "I'm Sara, Sara Sidle, by the way. In case you were wondering. And yeah, he should be home only we kinda had an argument. A big argument. I wanted to talk to him."

Sara Sidle. Gil filed that away, and while he should have invited her in, he wasn't sure he wanted her there when and if Jim came home soon. He didn't need to leave home from a confrontation only to arrive home to another. "He's not here to talk to. I can take a message for him and tell him when he gets home. Or you... could wait, but since I don't know how long he'll be..."

"I'll wait. For a bit," Sara said stepping towards him to invite herself in. "It's not the sort of message I can leave."

There was nothing for Gil to do but take a step backwards, torn between politeness and the knowledge that she'd just been treating Jim about as well as his parents had, if they'd been arguing. "All right. Would you, uh, like some coffee?" he offered a little lamely, turning to head towards the living room. She'd possibly never been in there before, and even if she had, she'd probably hardly recognize the place now.

"Sure," she replied. "Wow, Jim's been doing some work here. Paint still smells fresh."

She stood looking around in the middle of the living room. "New couch, too. New roommate?" she asked by way of a question.

That was one way to define it. "We've been working on cleaning the place up. I was painting the back room today. Next week, I might try to tackle the exterior," Gil said, small-talking as he ducked into the kitchen to pour her a cup of coffee from the drip machine's carafe.

"Sounds like a plan. Jim's always going on about how he hasn't had time to sort this place out." He could hear her walking around and it was disconcerting. She was a trained observer and he could tell she was looking. "So I'm thinking... Jim is suddenly gay and got married while he was on vacation? Because you don't look like any of his family at all and I know he doesn't have siblings or cousins around your age."

"Yes. He picked me up at a party and took me home with him," Gil deadpanned from the kitchen. He went light on the sugar, and came back with coffee for Sara.

She was looking at the photographs Jim had that Gil had dug up and hung up the day before.

There were some of him, sent back and forwards between the two of them and with a near jolt he realized he was staring at one of him taken when he'd been about sixteen and he'd thought that reminding him where he was would prompt him to get off his ass and come and get him. The sign of the CCCC was visible behind him and he was waving and he'd sent the letter and written a mock 'Wish you were here...' postcard to go with it. Jim liked the photo and had picked it to go up.

Sara glanced at him and back at the pictures again. "Oh my God. You're a Companion aren't you?"

It was a little late for lying. Gil held out the coffee mug. "I turned twenty-one last week. Jim finally came and got me. So I guess you could call me his new roommate."

Sara took the coffee mug and just stared at him. "Wow. Well, that's something that none of us saw coming. Jim's a Benefactor? Our Jim, a Benefactor. The guys aren't going to believe it."

"He's a good Benefactor," Gil felt the need to say. "Before you get any ideas in your head about what it means."

Sara seemed derailed from her original mission by the revelation. "It's just that if you knew Jim... I mean, he's the most unlikely guy to be a Benefactor." She shook her head again. "So that was the vacation huh?"

"That was the vacation," Gil confirmed, studying her as much as she seemed to be studying him, the living room. He didn't know what else to say to her, except that he wanted to know what they'd been arguing over, and so what if Jim seemed unlikely to be a Benefactor? That wasn't a bad thing.

"And we really weren't thinking along the lines of the male thing either. I thought Sofia was in with a chance after all," Sara replied. "So you know where he's likely to have gone?"

"A bar, maybe," Gil guessed. "But I don't know the area. And he has the car."

"Probably best to wait for him to roll in," Sara looked at her watch. "He must be really pissed off at me if he's stayed out this long." She glanced over at Gil. "We had a fight at work. I've never seen him do that. I mean, Jim is the CSI guy of mellow usually. Nothing fazes him and today he blew up, I shouted, he did, too, and... then Catherine got in on it and...."

"He had a fight with his parents just before work," Gil cut in, watching her glance at her watch. "The day didn't get off to a good start."

"Ah." Sara sighed. "I've got to get going. I was hoping he was hiding out here somewhere, but I reckon if he sees my car he'll just wait for me to leave. Look, Gil... can you tell him I'm sorry? Looks like my issues hit his issues head on and I don't know what half of what he said meant but I want us to stay good enough friends to find out. Can you tell him that?"

"I'll pass that on." Gil took a back step, still watching her. That was one way to phrase it, and maybe he could ask Jim what had happened, if he needed to know at all. "It was... interesting meeting you."

"Not the best circumstances," she smiled then suddenly, and the expression transformed her from darkly suspicious to someone a lot more pleasant. "Sorry about the grilling -- worked a few cases where perps covered for the fact they were doing a crime in progress when people came to the door. I guess you get in the mindset after a while." She shrugged and put the coffee down after a gulp of it.

"I know." He didn't want to get into professional dick waving, though. He wanted her to leave and then he was going to take Jim's cell phone and pager and his house keys and maybe go looking for him. Gil wasn't sure but he couldn't ruminate around the house much longer waiting. He wanted Jim home, and now that he knew Jim wasn't at work, he was getting more worried. "It's all right."

"I'll talk to him tomorrow. I hope he's okay." She headed off to the door and paused as she opened it. "I know Warrick, Nick and him once took Sanders down to a bar that's about a mile away I guess. Called Aces High. Maybe you could call there, see if he's around."

Gil had followed her to the door, and had a hand on the knob, ready to close it once she started to walk away. "Thanks, I'll do that." Once he found a phonebook. "And I'll tell him what you said."

Sara smiled and nodded and raised a hand in farewell before walking away, leaving Gil with the knowledge that Jim was out there somewhere and he had apparently let loose a pretty big secret in Jim's life just by existing.

Great. Just... Great. Gil closed the door, and turned to the kitchen where he knew he'd seen the phone books stuffed. It wasn't like Jim would have the phone numbers of his favorite bars stuck to the fridge. There were takeout menus, which were places that one actually called. People didn't call bars, they went there and drank.

It took him a few frustrated moments, but he finally found the number and dialed it.

“Aces High." The guy on the end of the phone sounded like he had just woken up, which Gil had to admit he might have done. The bars might be 24/7 in Vegas but the staff wouldn't be.

"Hi, I'm looking to see if I have a friend there. He's about five foot ten, he probably would have shown up after eight am, and he's probably drinking whiskey. He's stocky and his hairline is starting to recede. Can you help me out?" Gil set the phone book down on the kitchen table.

"Hold on, I just got in." He heard the muffled sounds of someone putting a hand over the phone as he called out to a fellow worker. Eventually he came back. "Yeah, got a guy here who's had over a bottle on his own who looks a bit like that. He's just staring at an empty at the moment. We think he's run out of cash."

"Can you keep him occupied for a few more minutes? I'm going to come and pick him up so you guys don't lose your liquor license if he happens to kill someone when he drives off your premises drunk." Gil looked at the address listed on the ad that was tucked into the yellow pages, and decided he could walk there. He could jog there. It was still early enough in the morning that the heat wasn't going to kill him.

"Yeah, sure. Doesn't look like he's thinking about moving much anyway. He's quiet enough," the man said. "But if he starts heaving, I'm chucking him out. See you soon."

"Thanks." Gil hung up, and he was glad that he was already dressed because he only had to jog towards the door, making a fast break for the door, barely stopping long enough to grab Jim's cell phone and the keys. He shoved them into his pockets, and started.

When he hadn't thought the day could get any worse or stranger, of course it had.

Jim was really unhappy and upset to do this. He had to be, and Gil wasn't sure what to do aside from jog a mile and find him, hope he hadn't lost the keys somewhere while he was getting drunk.

He was young and fit, and a mile wasn't far, even if the exercise regime hadn't been his favorite thing at the CCCC. They all had to be fit for their Benefactors, in good shape as much as they could be. He had to stop once or twice to get directions, but he found his way there. Aces High looked like a mediocre bar -- good enough to have customers drifting in and out even now, but small enough that it wasn't heaving with people.

The best thing was that he could see Jim's car in the parking lot, so he slowed to a casual walk before he walked through the doorway. He didn't want any extra attention, he just wanted to grab Jim and get out of there and drive Jim home. Get home, and then he could figure out how to fix what was going on. Gil pushed the door open, and started looking.

Jim was hard to miss. He was propped up at the bar just staring at his empty glass as if waiting for it to refill. Gil paused a moment and watched and not even for a second or a moment did the other man move or look away. He could have been a statue.

It left Gil of two minds about how to handle him, but he followed instinct and sat down beside Jim at the bar. 

"Hi."

It took a moment before Jim responded. "Hey Gil," he said softly. "My glass is empty you know that?" He carried on staring at it. "None of this glass half full, half empty shit for me."

"Jim..." Gil glanced to the glass, and then to Jim's face. "Come home. We can talk about it there."

"I guess I should. I was just going to have one more and..." He shrugged a little. "There wasn't any more to have. So I couldn't go."

"Jim, they're not going to invoke the clause." He wanted to stretch for an oblique comment that would work Jim around, but there was such a desperate look on Jim's face that he couldn't quite think.

"They will because it what has to be done. And we've always done what has to be done." Jim replied. His hand gripping the glass looked white with the pressure he was exerting. "I don't have a choice unless I marry."

"There is always a choice." Gil reached to grip the edge of the glass in two fingers, pulling it out of Jim's hand. "It's just not always optimal. If you choose to do this every night for a week, Jim, I'm going to keep choosing to find you and take you home. I'm not sure what that would accomplish, but there are other choices you can make, Jim."

"Its the only way to stop it Gil," Jim let him take it though he seemed suddenly unsteady as if the glass had been an anchor of sorts. "The only way."

"No, it isn't. I'm just going to tell you this once, Jim, but suicide is a selfish act. Slow suicide under the influence of alcohol is just as effective as a razor or a gun. Let me help."

"I'm not trying to kill myself, Gil," Jim replied trying to get up. "Just to make it stop. When it gets too much. I've done everything I was meant to do, fuck, I've done more but it's not enough.”

"Then let someone else do whatever else is expected. Let someone else step in when you can't." Let him step in, which was what Gil did when he reached to put an arm behind Jim's back to steady him.

"You don't understand Gil. No one else can step in here..." He tapped at his temple. "This is where it's all fucked up. If I don't drink, no one on the fucking street will get any sleep. Though I guess it's day so that's good. Think that's why I started nights." He weaved a little as they walked.

Nightmares, Gil guessed as he guided Jim to the door. He tried to keep Jim from weaving, while simultaneously looking for Jim's keys. "Might be able to do something about that, too. I don't know. Sara Sidle came over to apologize to you."

"Sara? Fuck, I screwed up there, too," Jim was doing a good job of faking walking upright. "Any day but today. Any other time to say I didn't know what it felt like...."

"She wanted to apologize. I don't know what was said, but..." Gil found the keys in Jim's left pocket, and once he had a hold on them, he started to guide Jim towards his car. "She seemed sincere. What did you know what it felt like?"

Jim shrugged. "Stuff. Being alone, being afraid and no one to help when the worst was happening. 's pretty obvious she had a tough time was a kid. I worked that one out. She was put in care. Marital abuse cases, she flies off the handle. No one wants to be paired with her one on one with those cases because she bitches that you aren't doing enough, that it's your fault because you don't understand what they're going through. I usually just let it slide so Cath pairs me with her..." He stumbled a little. "She's okay really, it's just a thing. Everyone's got a thing. Sends you to the edge of sanity."

He managed to hold on tight to Jim, and keep him from falling. Yeah, he had a thing but Jim could guess what it was. "Easy. Car's just a few more steps. Then we're going home, and between aspirin and water you should be all right. Today was the wrong day for her to fly off the handle at you."

"I guess," Jim propped himself up against the side of the car. "Hey... knew there was a reason I asked them to teach you to drive. Wanna know the real reason?" Jim leaned in conspiratorially. "...'s so you could really leave me when it came time. Freedom."

That was a little saddening, but Gil was getting used to that. Jim had been ready to throw open the door to his cage, had been preparing for it for years, only to find that Gil had already sawed most of the bars off and had turned the whole thing into a canopy bed. If he was going to keep following that metaphor, that was. "And surprisingly, I'm not leaving you in the parking lot and driving off."

"Yeah." Jim looked him. "They didn't teach you common sense or survival instinct did they?" He struggled to open the door of the car.

Gil reached past him and popped the door open for Jim, and then guided him to sit in the passenger seat. "I think they did but there's a very real possibility that I slept through them. Sorry."

"That... explains a lot," Jim pronounced as he sat back in the seat. Gil made sure his belt was on and went around to the driver's side and got in. He was looking for the right key when Jim spoke again and he wasn't sure if he was talking to him.

"Shouldn't have fallen in love with you, Gil. That makes it all worse. All of it."

"Why?" He hadn't really contemplated that Jim had fallen in love with him. That was just how it was supposed to be, Benefactor and Companion and he wanted Jim. He wanted to protect and be there for Jim.

"Because." Jim seemed to be unable to put things into words. "Because I want you to have… chosen to love me, not be taught how to... Because I'm selfish and I want you. So much but they'll take you away or you'll leave or something I don't know but it never lasts. "

He was drunk, so it was little wonder that he had trouble putting things into words. Gil put the right key in the ignition at last, and turned the engine over. "No one is going to take me away. And I'm not going to leave you. You're... you're Jim. I think I wanted to be with you since I was just a kid. You... I almost fell apart when you were 'sick' and couldn't write when you were on your Benefactor duty. If something happened to you, if you drank yourself to death, I..." 

He didn't know what he'd do, and that was the honest truth. He couldn't say he'd kill himself, but the much more honest even if it was impossible rose to his lips. "I'd have to hunt you down to throttle you for doing that to me. I don't know."

Jim looked blearily around at him. "After I was dead? You'd hunt me down?" He raised his eyebrows a little. "I have to get you a job in CSI. That's the only place that sort of thing isn't weird."

"Probably." Gil twisted a little so he could back out of the parking space. They'd be home in no time. "I'd have my waking self haunt your ghostly dreams or something. If you did anything like that I'd be very angry at you."

"I'll try to avoid it then. But I can't sleep so I can't have ghostly dreams," Jim murmured closing his eyes. "I've lost Ellie forever, Gil, you know that?" There was a glimmer of moisture at the corner of his eye. "I've lost her.”

"I know. I can't fix that for you," Gil answered back, voice quiet. The radio tried to turn on, and Gil turned it off before he pulled out onto the road. "No words will bring her back, and nothing can replace her, no matter what your parents think."

Jim was just silent but he was finally, impossibly crying as Gil drove. "I... kept hoping that maybe... maybe Janice would let me... see her. But she won't. She only did for the Trust fund, for the Benefactor status. Anything I send her, if I try and call..." He stopped and swallowed a few times. "She was my daughter. It didn't matter that there wasn't blood involved. I love her. I love her and I'll never see her again."

Janice would take whatever it was that Jim sent, whatever contact he tried to maintain now that there wasn't a trust fund coming her daughter's way. Gil swallowed, and kept his eyes on the road, trying not to think too hard on the pain that people inflicted on each other for no logical reason. It wasn't as if Ellie would understand what was going on, just that her father had gone and away and never wrote anymore.

"I'm sorry."

The worst thing was that he could tell Jim was all too aware that Janice would make it so it was his fault to Ellie and that the little girl he had so doted on -- and the letters to him were proof of that even when they became more critical of Janice -- was going to grow up blaming Jim. Hating him.

And Jim was going to let them because there was nothing he could do about it. For the first time Gil was seeing some of the restrictions that Jim seemed to fight a losing battle against. And as he parked the car outside the house he realized that Jim had probably known from the moment he divorced Janice, or even the moment that he realized Ellie wasn't his that he was going to lose her. And he'd still been the best dad he could, all the while mentally counting down to this devastating loss.

He turned the engine off, got out, and moved to the passenger side to get Jim out. And there wasn't a damn thing that he could do for Jim to soften the blow, except try to step between Jim and Jim's parents until Jim had a better footing to deal with it, until the grief had dimmed a little. Gil wasn't a fool, and he didn't think that Jim could just... shake it off so easily. He couldn't.

She was his daughter, and he was still crying, trying to choke it back while Gil unbuckled his seat belt and leaned in for a long moment to just hug Jim.

* * *

Jim had a level of tolerance to the morning, or evening after, but even by his standards this made his top ten worst hangover experiences. Gil had forced him to drink water, to get food into him which was sitting a little uneasily in his stomach. He was heading into nightshift wearing sunglasses and he guessed that said it all.

After the debacle of yesterday he nearly wished he'd called in sick, but the problem wasn't going away.

It wasn't like he could just make it go away, and if he stayed home, he'd just have Gil fussing at him. Over him, in that quiet but definite way that Gil fussed. He was just there, always present, trying to do little things to make Jim feel better but it just... Some days he was better cut out for contact with bodies than real people. And Gil seemed worried and had made sure that he had his cell phone and his pager along with everything else when he left the house.

So the kid wouldn't have to go calling bars if something happened again, Jim figured.

He hadn't gotten up in the night, at least, but even a night's sleep wasn't going to push away the emptiness that threatened every time he thought about what his parents had brought down on him. He'd thought taking on a Companion was going to be his biggest trial, but instead without Gil things would be worse.

Times like this he felt old, especially compared to Gil. He walked into the lab, wondering what the hell he was going to say to Sara, to anyone.

Maybe he could blow it off. Hah hah, nothing wrong here kind of thing, pretend it wasn't anything at all, that he hadn't flipped out at a coworker, that he was fine and everything was dandy and great. The lab was busy, always was. There was an overlap between swing and night and that made for a crowd he could blend into for a while, long enough to duck into the locker-room to put his stuff away.

It would've worked better if Catherine hadn't followed him. Nothing like a confrontation in the locker-room.

"So."

"Hey boss," Jim said even as he put his things away as if there wasn't anything wrong. Not for good old Jim who never got wound up about anything, who'd seen too much to let it get to him.

A generalization that worked for everything aside from his private life.

She started to walk towards him, heels making a slight click click noise on the tiles. "Are you and Sidle going to be able to work together tonight?"

"You could ask her that..." he suggested mildly. “I don't have a problem." Yeah right, not a drink problem, not a problem he couldn't talk about. Sara was nothing in comparison.

"Well, apparently she stopped by your house yesterday after work, and your Companion said he was going to pass on that she wanted to apologize." Now Catherine was looking at him with full cocked eyebrow. "So I can guess what your vacation was about, huh?"

Jim turned around. "It was something I needed to do. I did go to LA and catch up with old friends as well though." He said that like it made a difference that he hadn't exactly lied to her. He shrugged. "Yeah, I'm a Benefactor. Yeah, the other night when I couldn't come in I was at Gil's Presentation. "

"I don't remember you... ever mentioning before that you had a Companion, Jim. Off at a wherever it is they store them or otherwise. That's pretty important to know when we have to deal with cases that involve Benefactors. Do you think this might have ever been brought up in cross examination at a trial, Jim?"

"Why would it?" Jim looked at her. "You may have an idea of what Benefactors are like, but that's not who I am. I have a Companion, he's called Gil, and Cath, he's brilliant. A genius." He shook his head. "I don't see where cross examination at a trial would compromise anything."Truth was he tied to push away all thoughts of what being a Benefactor meant. He'd seen enough.

"Oh, god." That was a hiss of frustration. "Because everything is game, Jim! You've worked on cases that involve Benefactors -- they could call your calling the evidence everything from jealousy to, to I don't know! But it's important that I know that!"

"So. You know," Jim looked at her a moment and then shut his locker decisively. "Frankly it's been something I've tried to forget and I was doing a pretty good job for a while. Anything else I should be declaring? Is everyone going to be asked about things in their personal life?"

"There's personal life, Jim, and then there's information that they can pull up at the DMV," she snapped, and Jesus she was blocking the doorway. "You own another human being. Or pet, or whatever they call them. Sara thought it was a hoax."

Jim froze. "Cath, he is not a pet.” The very implication of it made him feel nauseous. "He is not a slave. He is my Companion and trust me, I'm getting the impression I'm not going to be the one calling the shots. He's Gil Brass and please... don't ever say anything like that about him, or me again." He was surprised to see his knuckles had gone white as they clenched automatically. He was also surprised his voice was so soft and controlled.

It implied horrible things, things that Jim wouldn't ever do, things that he wished no Companion ever had to go through. Shit like that Todd Piccone did, and that was just... fucked up.

Catherine was eyeing him, probably thinking of a way to save face, or argue back at him. It was a fifty fifty chance of either. "Look... I just... Don't know what to say. I'm thinking one thing and it doesn't fit with you."

"You're telling me," Jim said exhaling. "Why do you think I hadn't picked my Companion up before? I can't explain it Cath, but I've never wanted to be who I am and I've done a pretty poor job of it when I've had to. But I was lucky. I Chose Gil and... and I think for once I did something right."

She shook her head a little, like she was trying to clear her mind of disbelief. "So you chose this... guy who's right for you? Okay. All right. Do I have to fill out the forms to put him on your health insurance?"

Jim smiled a little. "I guess, yeah. I want him to have the perks. I should've known that Sara would tell everyone."

Not that he had been capable of thinking that at the time.

"She was a little surprised. If you had lace doilies decorating your house, I'm sure that would have gotten onto the rumor mill just as fast. I'm... not sure what's rumor and what isn't right now, but I don't think it matters. Are you going to be okay with Sara tonight?" she pressed again.

"Y'know, I think it's more a case of whether she's okay with me.” Jim replied. "I told you that yesterday. You know what she gets like on marital abuse stuff. I had a bad day before shift and being told I was pretty much personally responsible for the wife's death because I'm a man kinda... rankled a bit. I bit where I usually back off."

"Yeah, you bit all right. Don't feel bad about it. Nick can't take working those cases with her, either, but since he has seniority to you, Jimmy..." Catherine winked at him. "Low man on the totem pole. I'll get started on that paperwork. Gil Brass, right?"

“Yeah. And if there's any positions going in the lab or CSI anywhere, he is ideal." Jim put in as he relaxed a little. "Scratch that, we'd be nuts to pass him up. He's Companion trained with doctorate equivalents and a load of practical experience... He's got a forensic entomology specialty. I can't even remember all the things he has."

She paused, and just looked at him. "Funny that you should mention that. Sofia was just put up for swing shift supervisor and Covallo rubber-stamped it this morning. Why don't you have him come in and fill out the paperwork tomorrow night?"

Jim stared. "You're kidding, right?" He looked at her to see if she was. Not that he wanted to lose Sofia. Sofia was smart and they got on and managed to laugh and connect because she had a family that knew about the street and police. But with swing, they'd overlap sometimes, so they wouldn't miss out and if Gil could be a CSI on night shift....

That would be perfect. That would be so perfect that of course it would never work out because it was what Jim wanted. It would fail to work out on the sole basis that it was what Jim wanted and thus... Thus his head hurt. "Nope. If your Companion is as good as you say he is, we'll hire him. Barring anyone having a problem with him, that is."

"And might someone?" Jim asked wondering what she meant by that. He was beginning to wish he had paid attention to what people really thought about Benefactors instead of tuning it all out.

"I..." Catherine paused, and then shrugged, one hand on the door like she were keeping it closed but ready to slip out at any moment. "Don't know. Conventional wisdom is that Companions are like the Geishas of old. Impressive, well schooled whores."

"Impressive and well schooled, yeah. But not a whore. Never a whore," Jim replied. "Pretty much the opposite since they're celibate until they have their Presentation. Though..." He did sigh then. "I've met a few Benefactors that were like that. So I guess I can see where it's from. Cath, I don't expect you to hire him unless you think he's up to it, I know that, but you wait until you see how good he is."

"And it's all hype until I meet him. Make sure he's in a suit, okay?" Catherine finally opened the door, and that was his signal that the conversation was over. Tada, just like that.

Yeah, well he knew Cath well enough to cope with that. Even if the assumption prickled at his already raw sensibilities. "Suit it is," he replied. "I'll catch up with Sara. I'll try not to contaminate a scene with blood from a bitten tongue."

That got him half of a laugh, and then Catherine was gone.

He didn't want to face Sara, and he didn't want to have to put up with it again or listen to asinine assumptions and accusations again. He just wanted to work the case, no talking. If Catherine who was pretty cool, open minded and smart had those preconceptions about Companions, he had a nasty feeling that she wasn't going to be the only one. And Sara had a big problem when it came to any sort of domestic abuse.

But Gil had said she'd seemed okay -- but then Catherine had said she thought it was a hoax. Damn. He picked up his field jacket and headed towards the break room. See if they were in or out tonight.

Sara was standing in the break room, making up a cup of coffee, and that was a pretty clear signal that tonight was an in night. Working the evidence since they'd already cleared the scene, and not far along in the case yet to start with footwork that could lead to yet more evidence. There was some trace they were going to have to get, and Jim was pretty sure they'd both end up going to the autopsy of the woman in an hour or so. Whenever Doc Robbins paged them, since he'd been a little stacked up the night before.

"Oh, hey."

"Hey," Jim said making an effort to sound normal. "Working on the trace right? We don't need to go back out?" It was as much a conversation starter as anything else. He knew what they were doing and he went to get his own mug of coffee, even though he was sloshing with the stuff.

And pancakes. If he was the kind of abusive Benefactor to keep a Companion trapped in the house, Gil'd be a pretty good choice. He cleaned, he did repairs, he cooked, he looked great in Jim's bed...

Sara was frowning at him. "No, not yet. I've got Hodges running the matter that we found in her hair."

He could understand the temptation, but Gil needed more than he could give him to be happy. He needed a challenge and Jim knew when he was outclassed, and when he was the expert. Catherine might think he was talking Gil up, but he had detailed information from the CCCC and he knew what he was talking about.

"I'll give you odds it's car grease. Even if we haven't found the exact tool that was used, it will be enough to get us a warrant for the garage he works at." Jim said keeping it calm and level. He was waiting for the frowning to ease off.

"That was what I was hoping," she drawled, tone dropping a little as she stirred sugar into her coffee. "And if we find blood on one of his tools, we can at least have something to file."

Even if he'd probably cry 'anyone who worked there could've done it'. And hey, maybe they had. Jim couldn't be sure. "So, you, uh..."

Oh, there it was. "Yeah, I am." He picked up his drink. "Still the same guy you had a blazing fight with yesterday though." As if that was a recommendation.

"I wanted to apologize about that. And I came by your house this morning, and... This guy in short shorts and a tank top opened the door. I thought I'd stepped through a portal back to San Francisco."

"Yeah, that's Gil," Jim grinned a little. The shorts were... great. In a very particular way. "He said you'd been by." At least ten times until he had stopped groaning.

"I thought it was a hoax. I'm still not sure it isn't, because..." She looked at him, holding loosely onto her coffee mug. "God, you have a kid living with you. He's younger than Greg."

"There's mental age to consider and believe me, Sanders is the youngest here," Jim said in response. "You're giving me that look, Sara. I've seen it when you're working -- go on, you might as well get it off your chest."

"No, I'm just... trying to work out how you can do it. It doesn't seem like something you'd do, but... You picked him out like a dog or something when he was just a kid. Am I right? He couldn't have been more than, what, four or five? How is that not trafficking in human beings?"

The problem was he kinda agreed with her. He sighed. "You know something Sara? I agree with you. Really. What you've got to understand is that you don't get a hell of a lot of choice on the Benefactor side either. I was a kid myself, an older kid but sixteen is no real age to be making that sort of decision. I thought that at the time. I thought how can I possibly pick someone? I can tell you, I had big problems with it. I wanted to be out in my birthday Porsche tearing up the road." He shrugged a little. "And I met Gil, and I guess I was lucky because we clicked. Even so, it hasn't stopped me trying to avoid the whole thing for years."

"How... can you even click with a kid that young? Shouldn't they be... coloring or something?" Yeah, if Sara was being wishful, but Gil had been doing kid-things. "And if you disagree with it, why're you... why's he in your house?"

"Do you know what happens to Companions who don't get chosen? Who don't get picked up?" Jim asked. "They don't have any rights, any identity and they can’t function in society. It's just... Look, I supported him when he was growing up, I looked after him, I made the sort of decisions family would make. I gave up things and I pushed my luck until eventually they pulled rank at the Sheriff's level to get me to fulfill my Duty and go get him."

She was probably listening to him and thinking 'bullshit', but she didn't say it. Sara just looked at him. "So... you paid for him and now he's... what? Your housekeeper, or your sex toy?"

Jim had to almost literally bite his tongue. "He's my Companion. For me, he's my partner, he's going to get a job he wants to get, do what he wants to do and knowing Gil, he'll succeed. And for your information, as far as sex-toys go, I have plenty already."

The frown faded a little, and she ducked her head for a minute, hiding her faint smile behind a coffee cup. "Uh, I didn't need to know that. I'm still not sure how different this is from mail order brides, either, but..."

"One day when we've got way too much time, I'll try and explain it. And you can ask Gil when you see him. He'll be dropping in tomorrow if he agrees he wants a shot at being a CSI," Jim replied easily. It made him tired being pleasant when he had the leftover's of a hangover

"Really?" Sara seemed a little startled, but hey. She could be startled all she wanted. If Jim was Gil, he'd be tired of people judging his abilities before they even got a chance to talk to him. Even as himself, he was getting irked at the conclusions. "Okay. Hey, do you want to get started on the things we took out of the home, while I go over her clothes?"

"Yeah, let's do it. I don't need any more looks from the boss today. I've had my share," Jim replied as he finished up the coffee and put the mug down. "If we're really good, we may close the case tonight."

Sara gave him a faint snort at that, but she abandoned her coffee mug on the way out the door. Maybe, just maybe, that had been something like a truce, and they could concentrate on work instead of Jim's personal life.

They were meant to be professionals, after all, and work was what it was all about. 

But as they walked the corridor to their task, and every person who walked by turned their head to watch him, to murmur to another about him, Jim knew that somehow he wasn't going to be that lucky.

* * *

Resumé, a portfolio of some of his academic research, his certificates, and the letters of recommendation that he'd had to have Lady Heather fax him because they were still in the mail in transit. All of it was stuffed into Jim's old briefcase, and he was holding onto the handle a little nervously as he sat beside Jim in the passenger seat of his Mustang.

"I've never actually had a job interview before."

"Gil, if I can get through a job interview and get employed, I'm pretty sure you won't have any problem," Jim replied. "You've got politeness and poise down pat, just be yourself."

"Lady Heather organized the internship for me with the coroner's office, and they took me on in CSI just by chance..." Gil looked out the window as Jim drove into the employee parking lot, and it made Gil want to fidget with his necktie. His shoulder still ached, and he still had to move carefully, but Jim had made sure he was well wrapped up today and if the interview wrapped up early, Gil had keys so he could leave and come back to pick Jim up when his shift was over.

"So? That's more experience than I had when they took me on. I had police experience, not actual CSI experience, training and qualifications coming out of your ears. Besides... you'll like Cath," Jim smiled at him briefly. "She reminds me a little of your Lady Heather with a sharper sense of humor. She likes strong personalities. Trust me, don't say anything you don't believe to her -- she'll spot it immediately."

"Lying is more trouble than it's worth," Gil murmured as he twisted to look over at Jim. "You have your beeper?"

"Tucked away in my pocket like I promised," Jim said. "Gil, you'll do fine. That resume is enough to make any Law enforcement department drool, and Catherine is going to seriously owe me for tipping her off to you. They might question you about Companion stuff and all that. Just tell them what I've told you. You're your own person."

"I know how to answer questions about Companions, Jim." Gil peered out of the windshield for a moment, but then returned his eyes to Jim. "Maybe better than you can. I can handle that. I'm just... nervous." Everything was fitting together perfectly in his life, and it had all happened so fast. He had a right to be nervous, right?

"Hey, I'm nervous for you, too," Jim replied. "But not because I don't think you can do it. More because I want you to get something you want. And from the way you reacted last night, I'm thinking you want this."

"To be working in a crime lab? As a real job, to be able to learn more and contribute to cases, and..." Gil laughed a little at himself, and leaned back while Jim pulled into his parking space. "I want this so bad I can't think straight."

"You'll do it. Good CSI's are hard to find," Jim parked and turned to him. "I discovered yesterday that if you think I'm clueless about Companions, they're worse. All they've got is media information. I had a few tough questions about it so they may be curious about you."

"Believe me, I can handle that part of it," Gil insisted again. He leaned over the console, close enough to kiss Jim. "So, uh... good luck with the case. It might be better if you go in first and then I go find where I'm supposed to be." It would look less like he needed Jim's permission and support. The more independent he seemed, the easier it would go.

"Sure." Jim leaned across to him and kissed him reassuringly. "Remember, Supervisor Willows, Catherine Willows. She might have Covallo with her, I don't know. Good luck Gil." He kissed him again. "See you later."

"Thanks." He wanted to stay for more kisses, but Jim was getting out of the car, and taking the keys. Gil would count to thirty, and then he'd get out, lock the car, and head in and hope that he didn't do anything awkward. Jim had seen him at his best and most comfortable the whole time because he was Jim's. Jim hadn't ever had to work with Gil, so he wasn't sure what Jim expected him to do, or...

Or just be himself. He knew that one, that was easy. And counting to thirty was a lost cause because Gil didn't start to count, he just watched Jim's back disappear through the doors.

He hadn't been lying. He wanted this. He wanted this so much. He'd get a chance to work with Jim, he'd work the same shifts and he would be doing something that fascinated him and that he believed in. He knew that from his experience in L.A. He took a deep breath and got out of the car, moving round to lock up, glancing in the mirror to make sure that he was looking respectable.

Gil had shaved, and he'd combed his hair. The curls were getting a little out of control, and he needed a haircut again soon, but that could wait. Gil clutched at the briefcase handle, and momentarily hoped that he wouldn't let himself down as well as Jim by not getting the job. But there wasn't any more sense in dwelling or stalling. 

Gil started to walk towards those doors. There had to be a secretary he could ask where to find CSI Supervisor Catherine Willows.

Sure enough, the moment he stepped inside he saw the reception desk and the secretary smiled and flirted with him even as she rang through to see if Supervisor Willows was ready to see him. Apparently he was interesting enough for her to offer to take him to her office.

"Thank you." He was used to that, though. The flirting was something... interesting that he'd had to start dealing with in the coroner's office. He wasn't sure if all people flirted that much and it just struck him so obviously because he'd been kept away from it for so long, or if he was living his training and somehow flirting first.

Time would tell.

He was lead through the corridors into the glass-walled center that was the Las Vegas crime lab. If he concentrated he could hear Jim's voice off in one of the rooms to the right. That was comforting in its own way, just knowing he was there somewhere even if he wasn't there with him. 

The secretary smiled at him again and knocked on the door to introduce him to the older woman sitting behind the desk who was looking at him apparently stopped mid conversation with an older man next to her.

"Mr. Gil Brass to see you," the secretary murmured and then slipped out of the way.

"Mr. Brass, please, come in and take a seat," Catherine asked even as she hastily scribbled something and put a piece of paperwork in a try on her desk. "We appreciate you coming in at such short notice."

Mr. Brass. That sounded... funny, because Gil's instinct was to look for Jim, because Jim was Mr. Brass. "It was no problem at all. And please, call me Gil," he smiled at her, sitting down as quietly and gracefully as he could.

"Gil then," she replied. "Please, call me Catherine. You've caught us a little unprepared as regards paperwork of job descriptions as we haven't even had chance to advertise the position. So instead, Assistant Lab Director Covallo agreed to sit in on the interview to make sure I didn't miss anything pertinent." She gave the merest hint of a wry smile and Gil could tell almost immediately that this Covallo was a frequent problem for her.

"I'm sure you won't, Catherine," Covallo said and didn't reach forward to shake his hand but sat down in a chair opposite him.

"Sir." Gil inclined his head to Covallo, smiled at him. He was waiting for a signal, something that said he should start to talk and not just sit there, clutching his briefcase.

Catherine seemed to be waiting as well, giving a lengthy pause as if there had been something said before he got there that implied that Covallo would be running to show but he failed to so anything, so she cleared her throat and started talking. "Well I'm assuming, Gil, that you haven't brought the briefcase along as an example of a bomb you can analyze. Did you bring your resumé and references?"

"And a few of my forensics articles that have made it into some of the journals. Also, I brought my certifications, since I know that's usually required." Gil flipped the latch open, and started to offer them in neat piles. "My resumé and references..." He held them out towards Catherine. "I worked for LA County's Crime Scene Analysis lab for two years, but before then I worked for the Coroner's office."

Catherine raised her eyebrows and leafed through them. "Why don't you give us a run down of the sort of things you did at the coroners office and then with the Crime Lab?"

It was most likely a tactic to break the silence so they could get a feel for where he was in the grand scheme of things.

"In the Coroner's office I performed supervised autopsies, after I received my equivalency doctorate in biology." Gil fished out his certificates and leaned forwards to set them down on her desk. "Usually I prepared the bodies, documented physical findings, ran SART kits, collected samples that were taken to the CSA. Through my meetings with them, I was asked to start to intern there, and after eight months the CSA hired me. My pay went towards my schooling, and while I trained in field techniques I worked on my entomology degree. I was still a level 1 CSA in LA, and I don't know what the equivalent would be out here. My specialty is in insect activity, and collecting trace."

"And... how old are you?" Covallo said as he reached to take a look at some of the certificates and his resume. It was there in front of him, but Gil guessed he had to tell them even if they seemed to find it so amazing.

"I turned twenty-one the week before last." He bit down on his words before he said 'and Jim picked me up and took me home', but he was still proud of that and of Jim, and of the fact that his shoulder ached.

"Well this is a very impressive set of qualifications and experience for someone who's only twenty-one," Catherine said. "Forensic entomology huh? That's an unusual specialization."

"I know, but since I was allowed to pursue my own interests... They lead me there. It's a very interesting field, and with the LA CSA dayshift we managed to solidify a few cases with the timelines of insect activity. It takes a certain amount of time for a body to attract insects, and after that their patterns are very... precise." Gil sat back, and promptly closed the briefcase on his tie.

"There aren't that many entomological experts in the country are there? Not with relation to forensics," Catherine smiled at him and made a very small invisible to Covallo gesture to the tie area even as she continued. "So, tell me about the timelines. How can they help with a case? Or insect specialties?"

Gil popped the briefcase, and used the opportunity to both tuck his tie back and to pull out the two best journals he'd gotten lucky and had gotten into. "Time of death. Coroners can only make estimates at a percent of decay, but insects are very precise when they move in on a body, and most of the variables can be controlled for -- temperature and location -- when the body is found. So, say that a young woman is found dead in... a back alley. Urban conditions, heat, access for wildlife. The suspect in her death is her boyfriend, who says he was out of town -- and aren't they always? -- during a certain period of time. By timeline marking the insect activity, we can verify whether he was out of town when she died or whether he was in town. People lie, but the evidence doesn't."

"And you have perfected this technique?" Catherine asked and he sensed a hint of challenge in her voice. Maybe she wanted him to say yes. Or... not. Jim had said just to speak the truth with her.

So he did.

"No technique is perfect, but many of us in the entomological community have come to agreements on any part of a timeline that I'd suggest for presentation to a jury. For my doctoral equivalency, I did an experiment on the conditions that would effect blowfly development on a pig -- pigs since their tissue and composition most resembles a human being -- and managed to talk a local body farm into allowing me to take 'real life' samples there to verify my findings. These aren't earth-shattering developments in forensics, but as I said, they can help shore up a case to the jury, and they can help with warrants. There are certain insects that can only be found in conjunction with rotting flesh, and the presence of those insects are often good reasons for a warrant to look for a body stuffed, say, in a wall."

Catherine nodded. "And have you had much experience with finding bodies stuffed in a wall? Or anywhere else for that matter?" Covallo seemed to be intently reading the documents he had produced rather than interviewing him.

"Actually, yes. Philip Gerard, the dayshift supervisor, took me under his wing, so I usually worked scenes in conjunction with him. He's a man of the belief that no amount of simulations and computer programs can replace fieldwork and, if need be, field crime scene recreations. I happen to agree." Gil sat back, finally starting to relax a little. "We had a few gruesome cases, but I'd already become accustomed to stomach contents and corpses in the Coroner's office."

"After the first autopsy it gets a little easier huh?" Catherine commented. "It's definitely hands on in this lab. Las Vegas is a city with a very high percentage of transients in all shapes and sizes and the homicide rate is very high compared to other cities. Still, we're the second best lab in the country and Covallo here is always hankering after that number one spot. As the budget doesn't always run to top of the line equipment, we refuse to compromise on the people who work here. What would you say would be the most important thing you could bring to CSI Vegas Night shift?"

"A different point of view and a very strong work ethic." He didn't even have to hesitate to say that. "I enjoy the work, the mix of science experiments and giving the victims a chance to... be spoken for. Their bodies tell a story of the crimes committed on them, whether they're on a slab in the morgue or whether they're filing a spousal abuse charge and need someone to document their wounds."

Covallo cleared his throat and looked up at him. "Yes, speaking of a different point of view, I understand that you're a Companion?"

"Yes, I am. Registered to Jim Brass." Gil glanced over to Covallo, waiting for the man to make whatever point he wanted to make.

"Who is employed by the night shift as well." Covallo leaned forward. "What impact can you see your Companion Status having on your ability to work effectively?"

"None, or very little. At scenes, it isn't as if I have my status tattooed to my forehead." Just branded on his shoulder. "I had no professional problems in LA, where there's a very large Benefactor Community, and I foresee no problems working in the same environment as Jim. I'm very much my own person, sir."

"Nevertheless, as I understand it, is your prime loyalty not to your Benefactor?" Covallo asked. "If he asked you to do something... theoretically, you would do it?"

"When Jim tells me to do something, I do what's in his best interest. That's not necessarily what he wants. So if you're implying that he would ask me to tamper with something, which he wouldn't, I wouldn't. Going to jail is not in his best interests." Gil smiled when he said it, and skipped over any sexual implications that he could.

He could see Catherine smile at that but Covallo remained serious. 

"Small interactions can also be detrimental. For example fraternizing in work time, the difficulty in pairing in case work-life conflicts spill over into what we do. You have to understand that we have reservations about hiring any couples onto the same team for this reason. With the work we do, there's no way you would not work with him on certain cases even if the supervisor pairs you primarily with other CSI's." Covallo looked at him. "I'm guessing I'm asking whether you can be an independent professional in a situation where sometimes your work may put you in conflict with your... owner."

"I would be more than comfortable professionally disagreeing with him, if that's what you're asking," Gil answered. "There isn't going to be much at home conflict to spill over into work due to the nature of our relationship -- as you so eloquently mentioned, I'm property. Thankfully we get along. But I won't have a problem being an independent professional while at work. And fraternizing at work would be most inappropriate."

"It's not like we'd ever get time to fraternize at work," Catherine said dryly. "Why do you want to become a CSI? With these qualifications, you could have a research fellowship, offers from the FBI... pretty much anything you want?"

"Research is very... withdrawn from reality. After a while most researchers forget why they started in the first place and have fallen in love with their own theories. The FBI... the local FBI actually has Benefactors in their ranks, and that makes me uncomfortable. Also, I'm a scientist not a policeman. With the CSI, I'd be able to do hands on scientific applications that have the point of trying to help victims."

"So you would prefer the dull and tedious work of printing up a room or sweeping a scene for fiber?" Catherine asked.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "I wouldn't characterize either as dull and tedious, but I do prefer them."

Catherine nodded a little at that and sat back. "What would you say has been your most difficult experience to date in this field?"

“We were working a scene that hadn't been cleared properly. We didn't know that it hadn't been cleared properly until the suspect came back in with a gun and threatened to shoot Philip. I, uh." Gil cleared his throat. "Against common sense talked him out of it."

That seemed to have Covallo's attention. "You talked him out of it?" he asked leaning forward. "How?"

"The man had killed his wife by accident, and I managed to convince him that it was better to turn himself in than it was to... kill someone else."

Catherine nodded looking impressed. "Have you ever worked a night shift before?" she asked as she leaned back.

"No. That would have been past my curfew," Gil noted wryly. "But I can learn, and I've already been starting to adjust to those hours."

"Because of... ah yes," Catherine sat back. "We have a close-knit team here, Mr. Brass. How do you think you interact with other individuals?"

"Quite well, I hope. I'm a little quiet, I've been told, but there's more to talking than just words. On the weekends, the headmistress of the school usually had me teaching and watching some of the younger students at the college." He wasn't sure whether that spoke well of him or not, but it was hard to articulate listening training to outsiders.

"Well, you appear to be in good health and have glowing reference," Catherine said. "I must admit, we're not used to such... thorough documentation. Looks like you have some supporters, Gil."

"Can't say I've heard Brass directly pitch anyone before," Covallo said in a low voice. “Have you had experience of Companion prejudice?"

"Do you mean within or without the community? The answer is 'yes' to either. We've been well trained to handle it, sir, and my circumstances within the community weren't exactly normal." Gil had his fingers folded loosely on top of the briefcase. Now that he was there and talking, he was calmer.

“Would you care to elaborate?" Covallo asked sounding curious. "I thought there was little conflict within the community."

"There's a point of contention over what to do with Companions who didn't make it to their presentation in a pristine condition. And that's not even getting into the discussion over whether a deaf Companion should be repaired or not if it's possible."

Catherine looked at him. "Something happened to you?"

He liked the fact that she assumed that rather then he'd done something wrong. That was actually surprising. "We had a Choosing ceremony go awry when I was four or so. The laws on our community are quite vague about what to do when something like that happens." Awry, the best way to explain it without divulging details. "So I've developed a very strong belief in right and wrong, and the legal system."

Catherine nodded thoughtfully. “And I take it that you had deafness corrected? Either that or you're excellent at reading lips."

Gil laughed quietly. "Both. I had corrective surgery when I was eleven. I'm still fluent in sign, because so many students I interacted with either had no recourse for correction or their Benefactors preferred them that way."

He could tell from Catherine's reaction she didn't like that implication much. "Well, I have to say you're lucky you did as active fieldwork would be very difficult if not impossible with your senses impaired." She cleared her throat a moment. "Gil, would you mind waiting in our break room while Robert and I have a brief discussion?"

"No, of course not. I'll, uh, leave my documentation here." Gil smiled pleasantly at them both, and stood smoothly before turning to leave. No lingering, no looking back over his shoulder -- he at least knew how to follow instruction.

"Thank you. Down the corridor, first on the right," Catherine said, sending him on his way before looking over to Covallo as he left the room.

He was pretty sure she wanted to hire him. The other guy? Not so sure.

Gil meandered down the corridor, peering at people and trying to get a feel for them as he walked. He took the first right, and then stepped into the break room.

It was occupied by a man who looked more like he had stepped out of a catalogue than belonged in a crime lab. He turned and noticed him even as he was drinking and gave a slow easy half smile. "Hey, you lost?"

"I came here to apply for an open position and I was told to wait here. Supervisor Willows and Assistant Director Covallo wanted a moment alone." Gil smiled at the man, taking in his posture and his slightly too-aware smile. He was turning up the charm but was ready to probably dive for a gun if something was amiss.

The man did a slightly overdone moment of recognition. "Gil right?" he said in his soft Texan accent. "Jim was talking about you earlier. You just missed him. I'm Nick by the way." He transferred his coffee into his other hand and stuck out his right to shake his hand.

"Pleasure to meet you," Gil murmured. He didn't ask what Jim had been saying -- it was probably praise, and that made Gil smile a little.

They shook hands and Nick sipped at his coffee. "Trying out for CSI, huh? If you're everything Jim says, you're in."

"I'll find out soon. I worked in LA for the CSA. Different names, same things. I'd certainly enjoy working here in Vegas. I'm sure the cases are interesting." Gil stepped back a little, and finally back stepped so he could put the briefcase down. He felt a little silly holding it when it was empty.

"You can say that again. Man, the stuff that goes down in Vegas is just... plain weird," Nick said. "Sara used to be in San Francisco and she say she saw more strangeness in her first week here than she did in her entire time there. Still, L.A. was probably pretty wild."

"It had its moments. There were a lot of gang issues in L.A., but not too much by way of exotic crime. Break-ins, robberies, shooting deaths." Was Nick supposed to be doing something other than talking to him, or was he on break?

"Well right now? I'm waiting on a page from Greg on a DNA sample from this magician case where someone disappeared in his act and then in front of everyone the guy gets set alight inside an impenetrable box," Nick said. "We were actually there waiting to question him when it happened.”

"And you don't suspect it was him in the box?" Gil half-asked.

"Lets just say Warrick and I have a hinky feeling," Nick shrugged. "Greg must've been backed up from Swing shift, he's usually run our samples by now."

"Only from swing? Were these samples you turned in... today?" Gil asked, quirking an eyebrow at him. "Ours were always at least two days."

"You haven't met Greg. Fastest DNA tech in the west," Nick replied with a smile. "A little crazy, but you get used to that."

"Crazy is a relative thing," Gil shrugged, turning his head to glance out of the windows. "I don't think the Assistant Director was keen on hiring a Companion."

"Don't think the department's ever had one," Nick replied seeming unperturbed. "I met a few back in Texas. My cdad's appointed to the Supreme Court, so we mixed with Benefactors pretty often. And where you find Benefactors, you find Companions, right?"

"They go hand in hand," Gil agreed. He liked that Nick didn't seem to care. He wasn't interested in passing but as long as the people he might work with were comfortable with the idea, then everything would be easier. If he didn't get the job, he'd still have to interact with them because of Jim.

"Gotta admit, Jim's not the type of guy I would have pegged for being a Benefactor. The ones back in Texas wore their status large," Nick replied and then his pocket started beeping. He fished out a pager and looked at it. "That's Greg. Better go see what surprises he has in store for me. Good to meet you Gil. Hope you get it." He was already halfway out the door as he said goodbye. When work called, everything was dropped it seemed.

"Thanks. Good luck with that DNA." He liked that, too. Doing the job, less time on the niceties. Gil could sit and mull and watch people walk by while he waited for them to finish debating his fate.

Nick gave him a grin and was off down the corridor in a hurry, leaving him alone for a moment, observing the busy nature of the lab. There were a lot of people there, going back and forwards with evidence bags and papers. 

He was surprised when a woman with long blond hair came in, holding up a small collection vial which had something crawling around in it. "You're Gil right? Jim's Gil? Stokes just told me you were in here and Jim was talking you up this morning to everyone."

He could feel his cheeks flush a little, but it was easy to keep smiling. "That would be me. What do you have there?"

"Well I was hoping you could tell me, I'm Sofia by the way." She didn't offer her hand, just the vial. "He said you were into bugs and insects in a big way. I can identify it using reference books, but..." She shrugged. "I found it on a DB and I don't recognize it beyond the fact it's a type of spider."

Gil reached for it, and peered at the vial. It took him a moment of watching it race in its tiny tomb, and then he glanced up at her. "And you found this on the body? It's a male mouse spider, which is native to Australia. They're venomous, and can cause extreme sickness in the elderly and young." Gil twisted the vial, watching the three-centimeter spider react unhappily.

"Enough sickness in the elderly to cause death?" Sofia asked frowning as she looked at the arachnid trying to climb the sides of the vial. "Our DB was 67, male, with a preexisting heart condition. And then the question becomes what's an Australian spider doing roaming around biting people in Vegas."

"It's possible -- the bite effectiveness depends on location, his health at the time, whether the male had used it on prey recently... And also how a poisonous Australian spider ended up in Vegas," Gil drawled, offering it back to her. "It could have been a convergence of strange coincidence. Did the man keep them himself, perhaps?"

"Trust me, first thing I looked for," Sofia replied. "As well as anything obviously imported because I've seen most of our native spiders and this guy here sticks out. I wonder if it was planted. He was found in bed." She looked thoughtful as she accepted it back. "Thanks, you've saved me a good few hours leafing through text books."

"You'll probably have time to wrap that before you move to swing after all," Catherine said from the door way where she had been undoubtedly observing them both.

"You might want to ask some of the local dealers. If someone's sold one of those, they'd remember," Gil told Sofia, but his eyes drifted over to Catherine a little anxiously.

"I'll do that. Thanks," Sofia nodded as she turned to leave even as Catherine stepped into the room.

"Handy you were around, huh?" she said with a quirk of an eyebrow.

"I guess so." Or it had been a test. Gil wasn't sure, but he had his faint suspicions. He stood up out of politeness when she started into the room.

"Start getting used to everyone bringing you their bugs," Catherine said as she walked closer and smiled. "You're in."

"I'm in?" It didn't seem to make sense, but she wouldn't joke about that. "I..." He started to laugh a little. "Wasn't really expecting to hear that."

"Well I've got to admit, Jim if anything was being modest about your achievements. You're twenty-one and you got more qualifications than most of the lab put together," Catherine said with frank honesty. "And you've even got practical experience so I know you're not some cloistered academic who's going to pass out the first time he encounters corpse soup. Plus, I'm taking it you can start as soon as possible, no notice to give, all that?"

"I had to quit LA at the drop of a hat when Jim came to pick me up. No notice needed to be given anywhere, I can start as soon as you want me to. If the department needs it, I have a physical on file from a few weeks ago at the CCCC." He had the job. He had... the job, and it was hard not to grin too much.

"After the weekend then. It'll take me that long to push the paperwork around even with all my years of practice," Catherine replied. "I look forward to having you on my team, Gil. Covallo had some issues with the Companion thing, but I know Jim and he's never going to let that be in the way of work."

"No, he won't. He actually wanted to try to let me go, but, uh..." Gil cleared his throat. "I talked him out of it. Is there paperwork I need to fill out, or does Jim do all of that?"

"In your situation? Probably Jim. I'll send it back with him and you can fill it out for him to bring in tomorrow," Catherine replied. "Now you've solved my staff shortage, I've got to follow up on this Magician case. Very public deaths tend to get the Sheriff's attention. I'll see you on Monday, Gil... nice and late."

As opposed to bright and early he guessed.

"Thanks. I'll be here promptly." With Jim, but he didn't have to say that, and it was hard not to vibrate with delight as he headed to leave.

Catherine nodded to him and set off herself, heading in the opposite direction. He couldn't believe it. He had a real job, and a job where he would see Jim sometimes, and they could talk about things and their shifts would match and ... He had the urge to do something very immature to celebrate but his Companion training prevented him from shaming his Benefactor in any way. What he could do was go home and prepare a celebration meal for them both and... prepare for something more as well.

So he held the briefcase in one hand as he walked down the hallway, and pulled out Jim's cell phone with the other hand, and started to text together a page to let Jim know that he'd gotten the job and to call him when he needed the car and Gil'd pick him up.

He was going to need a cell phone, and eventually he was going to have to start saving for a car of his own.

Everything was just perfect. He had a wonderful Benefactor, the Vegas CSI's seemed like a nice bunch of people and if he'd had to wait a little longer than most then what he had waited for was worth it.

* * *

Getting the text from Gil had made him walk around the rest of the shift beaming uncharacteristically. They were used to Jim Brass giving a part smile, maybe a chuckle of amusement but on the whole he didn't laugh out loud or look... happy. This shift was different. He couldn't stop smiling. Especially when he and Sarah closed in on their wife-killer abuser and got enough for Homicide to take him in. All in all it had been a great shift and coming up to the end of it, he was having a quick cup of coffee as he ran his eyes over their final report of the evidence which he was going to put on Catherine's desk on the way out.

Then the evidence would be filed and charges would officially be brought and it would end up in their court docket to testify at, if the bastard didn't cop a plea bargain or just save the world some time and plead guilty before the judge.

Some days, Jim really loved his job. And he had a hunch that Gil was going to love it, too.

"Hey, Brass." Sofia with a stack of papers in hand, looking a little tired as she headed with a cup of soup over to the microwave.

"Hey," he replied glancing up. "Thought you'd have been out of here long since?" 

She was meant to be starting on swing, and getting settled in over there. Warrick had said something about them going out to dinner on Friday to officially send her on her way. DB's permitting of course.

"I just wanted to tie up any loose ends. After all, a supervisor has to seem responsible." She winked at him as she sat down. "I met Gil today, earlier. Cute kid. Is he that eager about insects naturally?"

Jim grinned a little. "Yeah. He really is. And you know something? I could've sworn I heard you'd finished up that case with the spider last night. Grandson smuggling one out of a museum exhibit? Or is this a coincidentally similar one?"

She smiled down into her coffee cup. "Okay, you caught me. Covallo wanted me to put him on the spot and see what he did. In a few seconds he figured out what took me eight hours. They all look the same to me." She tilted her head a little, still grinning, and god she was pretty to look at. Completely at ease with herself, too. "So is that why you're not much of a big spender? Putting the kid through college. Seems like it was money well spent, Jim."

"He's unbelievable," Jim said with genuine sincerity. "And yeah. You don't get Benefactor pensions for quite a while. But it was worth it. Gil is bright and I knew Catherine would go for him. I could've told Covallo he was for real. Our first conversation when he was a kid was about bugs."

That got a laugh out of Sofia. "Sounds like one of my cousins. He was the kid who came inside from playing somehow covered head to toe in dirt."

Jim smiled again. "Yeah. So... I don't think I've said congratulations yet, have I? About being supervisor and all. You deserve it."

"Well, you were on vacation when it came down. But I'm proud of myself, too. I knew I'd get there one day, but... I'm going to miss working closely with all of you. And with you."

"Hey, you're in swing. We’ll be crossing over some," Jim said wondering what she meant by that last comment. "I would've thought you would've missed working with Warrick more?" He wasn't sure where she was heading with all this.

"I doubt swing shift has someone as good at footprints as Warrick," Sofia grinned. "I, uh... was wondering, now that we're not working together, if you'd like to go out sometime."

Jim stopped and stared a moment. "You're asking me out? On a date?" he asked a little flustered. "W… Why?"

"Because you're funny, and interesting, and..." Sofia quirked a look at him. "I'm comfortable with you, and I hadn't asked before because we were on the same shift."

"Oh... right." That did surprise Jim. "But I have a Companion... Gil." And that had been a big deal for Janice. A huge deal and enough to make his life hell. "Doesn't that worry you?"

"Not really. You're not a normal Benefactor, Jim. From the outside looking in it seems like a pretty strange place, and I know you well enough to know you'd think the same thing." Except that he liked parts of it. That he liked, loved Gil and that mattered to him.

The argument with his parents was still at the back of his mind. Had been for days now, nagging at him with hints of duty this and responsibility that, if only to keep them off his back maybe he could date. He didn't want to, but he had a lifetime of doing things he didn't want.

"Well, okay... I guess if you don't mind..."

"He seems like a sweet kid, Jim. It doesn't bother me. How--" Her cell phone started to beep, and she stood up. "How about we talk about this later and work out when we both have some time?"

"Sure. Yeah, I'll look forward to that," he said even as his beeper went off in his pocket as well. Gil.

"Great. Have a good day, Jim." She gave him another smile, and slipped out into the hallway.

Gil was waiting for him, and he'd somehow managed to line up a date. Without trying or thinking about it or even meaning to.

He couldn't quite keep that in his head. It was weird and he didn't really want to do it because he was happy with Gil and he was all he needed. Really. He picked up his report and dropped it off on his way out, not finding Catherine in her office or in the locker room as he picked up his things and headed outside.

Ah there he was. He half jogged over to the car and pulled open the door. "Hey there, CSI guy," he greeted him

Gil had the car running, and he was seat-belted in, but it didn't stop him from leaning over to bear hug Jim. "I can't believe I got it! I even closed the briefcase on my tie, Jim, and they still hired me."

"Can't think why considering how important not doing that in the field is," Jim said smiling and enjoying the hug. "C'mon, they loved you."

"Supervisor Willows loved me. Covallo didn't know what to do with me." Gil barely seemed like he wanted to lean back to breathe or to let Jim breathe. "Everything's working out so perfectly, Jim. I didn't expect to get the first job I applied to..."

"Gil, if any of the other departments had got wind of your résumé they would've been headhunting you," Jim replied, kissing him and pulling back a little. "Catherine owes me big time for tipping her off in your direction. You're more than good, you're brilliant, you know that."

Or he at least hoped that Gil knew that. Hey, maybe he didn't. It was always a possibility, and with Gil half the time he seemed to have missed out on really obvious things. Gil sat back, and licked his bottom lip. "That's debatable, but at least I'm in the right field. C'mon, should we go home? I have dinner ready."

"Dinner huh?" Jim was pleased to here that. "Been preparing?"

He was stricken with a suddenly longing to… just do something in the car. Anything. Everything. Probably not the best idea in the parking lot where he worked.

Where they now worked. Gil sat back, and readjusted his seat belt before he put the car out of park. "I think you'll like it. I hope you'll like it. I prepared... quite a bit."

"Oh yeah? Care to tell me exactly what you have in mind?" Jim asked recognizing that tone of voice. He didn't think it was wishful thinking.

And if it was right, it would be a good capstone to his day. He and Gil hadn't done much since the presentation, hadn't done much since he'd had his fight with his parents. "Do you want to know exactly?" Gil smiled a little, turning the steering wheel.

"Give me the general gist of things?" Jim asked finding that it was going to take much to get him hard today. Just being here and wondering was doing it.

"When we get back, I need to finish grilling your steak, and reheat everything else. Everything is pretty much ready for eating whenever you want. After that..." Gil gave Jim a glance. "I hope I wasn't overstepping myself, but, uh..."

"Overstepping sounds promising.... go on."

"I stopped at a store on the way home. See, you said you wouldn't have sex with me until I was ready, and I assumed you meant mentally and physically, so where the mind is willing, the body... The store sold butt plugs. I have it in right now."

Jim found his pants abruptly a little confining. "Oh god Gil... you really want to?"

"I want you. I want... all of you, everything I can have. So... Yeah." Gil's mouth looked a little unsteady, a smile twitching the edge of his mouth. "This makes it really hard to drive. Your suspension is too tight."

"If you want to swap we can," Jim offered and his eyes kept roaming over Gil as if he could see the effects. "Gil, I hope you don't mind if I'm in a hurry to get through dinner...."

Waiting could be for another day. He wanted Gil to be ready and he was eager but he wanted it to be something wonderful. Something to burn away any memories of anything else that might exist.

"Maybe we could do that and then dinner?" They coasted to a stop at a red light, and the way Gil shifted, it was obvious that he was as hard as a rock, tenting up against the fabric of his pants. "It's not a long drive."

"Once I'm done with you neither of us will be able to do anything like get food," Jim replied twitching a smile. "I....on the other hand..."

His other hand reached over to stroke swiftly over Gil's crotch.

Gil groaned quietly, and shifted his hips against Jim's hand. "Oh, fuck. It almost feels better knowing we can't do anything out here."

"Maybe I should make you wait through dinner, knowing you've got that inside you," Jim murmured caressing over the material just for a moment.

He liked that idea, making Gil squirm and wait it out, but not quite as much as he liked the idea of pounding into him. Gil slowed the car down a little, going the speed limit when Jim teased him again. "Maybe you should."

Jim smiled to himself. "I'm going to make you love it... you think that feels good in you? You think it felt good when the opener was used by me? It'll be nothing compared to having me in your ass." He wanted it. He wanted them home and dinner eaten and both of them bending over the bed and moving together... and --

He was going to come in his pants at this rate. Gil exhaled in a huff, and Jim almost belatedly realized that his hand was resting right over Gil's crotch still. "That's what I'm hoping. You're not cold metal or plastic."

"I'm... uh... going to make sure we get home in one piece," he said removing his hand thought the warmth lingered on the palm of his hand. "And I'm definitely not cold metal or plastic." How far was their house anyway?

"I've come to appreciate that. And I don't think potholes would make you vibrate." Gil swallowed, but he was still grinning as he drove. "I still can't believe I got the job. This is the sort of thing Covallo was worried about, too."

"What? That I'd drag you into Evidence and bend you over a table?" Jim asked and then paused. "Or vice versa for that matter."

The idea was not without some merit.

"Or vice versa," Gil agreed. "We're not supposed to fraternize, and I told him that I hadn't planned on it. After all..." And there was another sly glance. "Sometimes the waiting is worth it."

"I promise you now, any waiting we have to do will be definitely worth it," Jim replied. How had he managed to get to this place? Where suddenly there was something to look forward to? Something worth living for? When exactly had he fallen in love? Last week or over fifteen years ago?"

He wasn't sure, couldn't be sure about any of it, but Gil was there and he was vibrant and he thought out of the box and he was suddenly Jim's reason to keep going. Maybe his only reason left. "I don't doubt it. Particularly if it keeps us from getting fired." Gil exhaled a little loudly again, but they were already pulling onto their street. "Catherine was going to give you the paperwork when she had it ready."

"She wasn't in when I left so I'm guessing tomorrow. When are you starting?" Jim asked willing them to get there faster. Then dinner then... everything.

"Monday. I have a couple of days and the weekend more to get used to the nightshift hours. I haven't been doing badly." Gil coasted the vehicle up into Jim's driveway.

"We'll work on it. And we'll have to start looking for a car for you," Jim said thinking of the practicalities. Okay so they didn't live far away but having a car to get to crime scene was pretty necessary.

"I don't need anything fancy. Just... something that won't leave me broken down." Gil popped the door open after he turned the car off and put the brakes on. Now that he was standing up, Jim could see him moving a little funny, because he had something, some kind of plug, stuffed up his tight ass. 

"You'll need something decent..." Jim replied opening his door. "Crime scenes are pretty frequently in the middle of nowhere. I've got money, don't worry. "

More now considering the DNA test had proved adultery and Janice was now on her own. Benefactors did not pay alimony to partners who tried to corrupt the family line. In fact, she was apparently lucky the Brass family didn't prosecute her. Apparently they could do that as it was a criminal offense to tamper with, appropriate or utilize Benefactor status without legal rights to it. Janice had ruined everything for herself, and for him.

Now wasn't the time to think about it, though. Not when Gil was slipping a hand to tug at the back of Jim's belt between two of the loops it was threaded through, keeping close as they went into the house. "I'll start... finishing dinner."

"We can eat the steak raw if it helps," Jim offered as he followed and reached for keys so they could remain in contact even as they fumbled to get inside. Gil was so close and so much there, under his touch. He wanted him... He really wanted him.

And he was sure that Gil wanted him just as much. Somehow, Jim got the front door unlocked, and they were heading into the hallway, Gil still that close to him. "No, by the time they're done I'll have everything else reheated."

Jim couldn't wait. He swung him into his arms for a kiss, unable to stop himself even as the door banged shut behind them. "How... hungry are you really?"

"It can wait a few hours?" It was a good thing that Gil had changed out of his suit and into a t-shirt and jeans again, because that suit was good enough for court, and not made for being manhandled. Gil was already starting to pull at Jim's jacket. "We can skip it for a few hours. Everything is in the fridge."

"I changed my mind. I want you... I need you," Jim murmured wanting that t-shirt and jeans off. Wanting the skin beneath it, wanting all of him here and now. His hands fumbled hurriedly and he really needed more practice at undoing clothes.

Once his fingers started to pull at the buttons of Gil's jeans, he seemed to finally relax again, and he started to try to unbutton Jim's shirt. "Whoa, hold on. Gun comes off first..."

"And watch that hair trigger," Jim murmured as he leaned in trying kiss Gil and help get the shirt off at the same time. "I... have no will power when it comes to you."

"Is that a bad thing?" Gil unbuckled the holster, and the gun ended up on a table stand thing. Jim'd find it later, because he was being backed up against the wall so Gil could get his shirt off.

It was a strange kind of exciting feeling and he nearly laughed. It was so far the other side of what Sara imagined as to be ludicrous. "There might be times when patience could come in handy," he replied as the shirt came off and the wall was cool against his back.

"We'll work on that at work. Home is a different story." Home was apparently going to involve a lot of sex, and Gil leaning into him, chest against chest to kiss him while his fingers slid down to unbuckle Jim's belt.

"You know, maybe I should recommend those extra years waiting to others, if this is the result..." he drawled and kissed him again. "On the other hand, maybe I wasted five years missing this..."

"No, I wasn't exactly... all together until I got out of the college and started to work," Gil mumbled against his bottom lip, tugging at the zipper. "It's stuck."

"It’s been under pressure." Jim felt he had to point that out and his fingers fumbled over Gil's as they tried to help and settled on practically ripping the zip off. And then he pulled at Gil's jeans and he was hungry to touch his skin.

Gil's underwear was tight against his skin, and when Jim slid a hand around to grope his ass, he could feel the round flared base of the plug. "Shoes need to come off..."

Everything needed to come off. Gil hadn't bought a small one for himself. Fuck... He would be well stretched, and ready and hopefully not sore. God, he just wanted more of him. It was like being presented with a feast when he was starving. He didn't know what to try next.

It was hard to concentrate with Gil kissing him like that, with Gil kissing him and not stopping while he tried to get his shoes off, and then tried to help Jim out of his shoes. Jim had no idea how they were going to make it up the steps.

Hey, there was... a bed in the room he had done for Gil... but... Upstairs was their bed, together and he wanted it to be about that as much as anything else. He was pretty fit, maybe he could half carry him.

Then again, Gil was pretty fit, better than pretty fit, and he was taller than Jim. He groaned against Jim's mouth, and then finally pulled back. "We should... we should go downstairs. Upstairs."

"Upstairs. Our bed," Jim nearly growled and started moving. Clothes were strewn randomly over everything and he had this incredible urge to pounce on Gil and just let things get very physical. It was like feeding an addiction. A healthier addiction than one he'd had normally.

After all, how many addictions included what was basically cardiovascular exercise? Gil stepped out of his jeans, and half-reached a hand back behind him to make sure the plug didn't come out while he walked. But he didn't need that precaution.

In fact his own hand was reaching down to help with that effort, or to just touch there and know that Gil would be feeling him and wanting him there. "Move," he murmured, impatience making it more of an order than he would have ordinarily said.

Gil did, though, walking up the stairs ahead of him naked, with Jim shadowing after him. There was a little voice in the back of Jim's head that sounded sort of like Janice, sneering, 'see, I knew that was what you wanted him for', but he could ignore that. At the time he'd wanted him because anything would have been better than living alone with Janice, but in truth that wouldn't have been fair to Gil.

His hands smoothed over Gil's ass as he preceded him up the stairs and he had to try and talk himself down from leaping right in. He owed Gil to make it good. There was a lot he owed him. Time and so many other things, if they were going to make it work. If he couldn't give him his freedom, he could lead him most of the way to what he wanted to give Gil. Gil kept ahead of him down the hallway, grinning at the corners of his mouth as he half-walked, half-jogged to the bedroom.

Getting there was a flurry of touches and movement as he tried to maintain contact as they made it up the stairs. His relief on seeing the bed there was immense. "I want you..." he breathed as they practically dived towards it. "I want you so much."

And somewhere he had turned into an insatiable sex machine as well from the feel of it.

"Good." Gil's face was flushed red, and his hands drifted to Jim's hips as soon as they were close. "Then take me."

It was tempting, very tempting. It had been a long time since he had just let go and... he couldn't now. He needed to make it good. He pushed Gil down on to the bed, letting him settle as he reached for oil or lube. He was going to tease him some more and... they didn't need condoms because Gil was his, and he knew he was clean, he'd never do that to anyone and.... he could tease him by playing with the plug, gently moving it, flicking it just a little.

Gil squirmed to lie on his stomach, and shifted onto his knees a little, head turned back to peer at Jim. "Please..."

"Not yet, Gil, not yet. We've gotta be ready," he said. Who was he kidding? He was more than ready, they both were. Two seconds he could have that out and him in and be inside him and... deep and....

He had to slow down. He twisted the plug a little checking for looseness. It wasn't very loose, but it did make Gil groan and spread his legs, lifting his ass so Jim had better access. "Ready, uh-huh..."

"How... long have you had this in..." Jim asked as he toyed with it. He wanted Gil looser than that. He was above average in size, but no monster. Big enough to feel, he'd always said.

"A couple of hours." Gil slumped down a little on his crossed arms, resting his cheek against them. "Just like Lady Heather suggested."

"Now if we'd had these sort of classes, I can guarantee there would have been full attendance," Jim murmured smoothing some more oil into his crack and working it in around the plug. "Did she tell you what it would feel like?"

"We discussed it," Gil murmured, his voice sounding a little shaky. "Since I'd already-- but it wasn't how it was supposed to feel. When we... with the opener, just before the Presentation. That felt good." Gil rubbed his cheek on the sheets a little.

"This will be better," Jim promised, wiggling the object some ore until the muscle began to give a little more. He was as hard as a rock himself and it was going to take all his discipline to do this and make it last. "I don't want you to have bad memories, just good ones."

"This is a good one." Gil shifted his knee, and sighed quietly. "You're teasing."

“I'm good at that. I'm sure you are too," Jim murmured. "We'll do it this way tonight because it's easier... for you." He leaned in and wiggled the plug painstakingly out of Gil.

He was going to have to pretend that he wasn't watching the muscle close right up behind the plug that he pulled out, only a little loosened looking for all of that effort. "I can move if you'd prefer it. There are other ways that are technically easier…"

"No, Gil, it's okay." He reached and slicked himself up. "You ready?" He shifted up and over him, warmth covering his lover where he hadn't been able to do so when they had used the opener. He'd be able to hold him close.

Real close, as close as two people could get without sharing body parts. When he asked, "You ready?", Gil shifted his position a little, like he was presenting his ass to Jim.

"Yeah."

When he started pressing in, it was so much sensation he nearly forgot his resolve to go slow. Gil was so tight he had no idea how he had gotten through the presentation. Fuck, the heat and pressure and stopping... stopping then moving a little, then some more and all the while each muscle spasm was a flash of fire.

There was a thin constant groan escaping Gil, and he shifted one leg backwards almost restlessly, slipping a little. "Jim..."

"I'm here... I'm… in you..." Nearly. Not completely and fuck he was tight. So damn tight and hot enough to burn. He had to grit his teeth not to push in hard but that would hurt him and he couldn't.

He couldn't hurt Gil. "Kind of noticed." And even with Gil's voice strained, he still sounded a little wry. "Nn, move it around?"

"In a... moment." A moment after he was in deep and his muscles relaxed and he was seeing stars from the effort. There, he was in deep, deep enough to rock a little and wrap arms around Gil, and nuzzle the back of his neck as the sensations burned.

The groan finally turned softer, and one of Gil's hands ended up on Jim's forearm, hugging onto him. Apparently he didn't mind taking Jim's weight if it meant closeness. "Oh, god."

It allowed for limited movement but that was fine. Limited was all he should be doing right now anyway, but it made him gasp and clutch even as he tried to give him that twist of movement he'd asked for. "So... tight..." he moaned half to himself. "So...fucking tight."

He half-thought he heard Gil laugh, a short muted noise, but maybe he was hallucinating. Gil rocked his hips a little, and he was starting to give up on staying on his hands and knees. "Yeah. Just like that. F... fuck me just like that."

They went down and they were generating a lot of heat between them as he pushed and moved and started to feel it become easier to make bigger sweeps of pleasure, pushing in. He angled everywhere, trying to hit the prostate. He'd find it in there somewhere.

As long as he kept moving, he'd hit it eventually, hunching his hips against Gil's ass, feeling Gil shift and groan beneath him. He gave a hiss of breath, and turned his head again. "Do that again?"

"Which? This?" He tried the same angle, slowly and surely, looking for the reaction

Gil gave a certain tone of groan, and the muscles at the back of his neck tensed. "Oh, god, that. That, right there, it, it..." He was babbling. Finally.

Now he had the spot he could move and indulge himself, knowing that as he moved, Gil would be moving as well, feeling bursts of incredible sensation as he thrust. He began drawing back further, plunging deep, each stroke still measured and slow but increasing in pace.

Gil was starting to get into it, couldn't talk himself through it, wasn't teasing Jim with words anymore. He groaned and clutched at Jim's arm and turned his head and moved with him to try to get more of the sensation. Jim liked the sound of those wild groans, liked the way Gil bucked a little when he thrust just so.

It was enough to encourage Jim to let slip his control a little more, to move harder, faster, to clutch at Gil and slide over his skin until there was nothing but that touch, the noises they made and the heat inside. Oh god yeah, yeah he could do this forever...

And he could. Gil wanted him, who the hell knew why, and it wasn't a one-night stand. This was for keeps, and he needed to try to get a hand between Gil's body and the mattress, because his own balls were starting to feel tight, closer to cutting loose entirely.

He wriggled that hand in, finding Gil's hard erection and gripping it. He tried with a degree of success to match his thrusts and strokes though he was out of practice and oh god, there wasn't anything that could stop him now. He was letting go and there were stars in front of his eyes, pounding in his ears and any moment, any moment it was going to be that release and explosion of ecstasy...

When everything went tense and fuzzy, and his body was still there, going for it, shooting into Gil, hips jerking and dick twitching even while he somehow kept his hand moving on Gil's dick. He could feel it twitch, and could feel a spasm of muscle around his dick.

He knew Gil must be feeling the rush of warmth inside him and he pumped hard over his cock even as he thrust in with the last few gasps of his orgasm.... and there it was, Gil following suit, warm and sticky over his hand and an incoherent sound beneath him.

It was all right to lie there on top of him, slumped there for a minute. Gil squirmed a little. Shifted his shoulders, and sighed. "Wait until the bandages come off."

"I didn't hurt you?" Jim asked, feeling he needed to check. He was still inside of Gil, but spent. He kissed him again. "It was okay?"

"It was great. Amazing. I should quote poetry, but..." But the side of his face was pressed against the mattress, and Jim could only half kiss him as it was. "God. Maybe working is overrated."

"They say a lot of things are better than sex. I take that to mean they're not doing the sex right," Jim murmured. He pulled himself out slowly and shifted a little to the side to ease his weight. "You're... so beautiful. I don't know how I got so lucky to have you here."

"You Chose me." Gil shifted, stretching his arms lazily for a moment before he shifted to loop an arm over Jim's waist. "And I happily approved. I think it was a good choice all around..." Gil's voice was muzzy, and he shifted closer.

"So I did one thing right in my life," Jim said tangling happily with him. "I hope I get to last."

"You will." Gil shifted closer, half-hard cock brushing Jim's thigh and making him shiver a little. "I think dinner can wait a little longer."

"Remind me to start going to the gym again. Otherwise, I'm never going to keep up with you," Jim murmured. "Younger, smarter, stronger... god, more beautiful than anyone I've ever seen."

It was true. Just then, at that moment Jim knew he was in love and it felt right.

Maybe he got a little silly, but Gil laughed quietly. "Have you looked at your coworkers? No, don't answer that." Gil didn't give him a chance to answer. He just kissed him, and Jim decided he didn't mind that at all.

Later there was going to be steak -- medium rare and maybe more sex. Maybe dinner and sex would overlap somehow but right now he didn't care as long as he could stay here, kissing and reveling in their newfound contact. If this was how life was going to be, perhaps everything else he'd gone through had been worth it.

* * *

He had an ID badge, and a lab coat, and he was spending his first day in the lab, more excited than he’d been in, well, since at least the previous week. Catherine had stressed that he needed to know where things were in the lab and get used to Vegas's techniques and not try to stick to LA's techniques. Gil could guess that had been a problem with other hires, but Gil was viewing it with an open mind.

What it actually meant was that he had spent part of the shift with various members of their lab team seeing how they went through things and prioritized them for action. He was going out later with whoever was handy, but Jim and Warrick were already out somewhere and he had a feeling he'd just seen Nick go past on his way somewhere. 

In the mean time, he was being dazzled and confused by Greg.

Not in the technical stuff he was throwing out at him, but in the way that Greg seemed so... all over the place and at the same time was doing precision DNA work that he had never seen done at LA. At the same time he was running trace, making notes, talking and he was easy to like as well. He was by far the youngest person in the lab except for Gil now, and he seemed to relish the thought of another younger member.

"You ever try DNA?" Greg said even as he effortlessly scooted back on his chair to set up another batch.

"Nope." Gil was looking over where the chemicals were, looking around the room. They ran trace in there, too, a busy central room, and Gil couldn't help but make sure everything was just the way it was supposed to be. "I prefer biology to chemistry, on the whole.”

"I did chemistry," Greg said slotting another batch of samples into the spectrometer. "So what pretty much happens is I get sent up a bunch from evidence and I look them over. Sometimes day shift leaves me with a pile. I hate having a big backlog. I take a look, I prioritize homicide over robbery that sort of thing, and then... each of them comes in and demands that their sample gets processed first." Greg half smirked a little at him. "I promise everyone theirs will get put to the top of the pile.”

"And you do them in your own order?" Gil asked, eyeing the fume hood in his check for where things belonged. It looked hot in there, warping like the air over hot pavement. "Hey, is the hot plate supposed to be on?"

Greg turned around. He frowned. "No. They're meant to put unidentified substances under the fume hood if evidence is locked. Someone might have knocked it on when they went under there." He got up and went a little closer. "Smells like something's burning under there." Greg reached under, flicking off the heater and moving the beaker of green liquid, and then yelping as the slow bubbling liquid spilt over his hand at the movement. "F--Jesus! Gil, you give me a hand here? I've got a volatile here that needs... dampening. Get one of those smother covers there...”

Gil dove for it, and pushed Greg back carefully before he put the smother cover over the fume hood. "Your hand -- wash your hand off!" A hot plate in a closed space and chemicals that could just explode at any moment. Whose stupid idea was it to just *store* unknowns there, even if it was part of a procedure. Some things caught fire at a mere spark, never mind the, the danger of moving things around every time the hood needed t obe used. Gil got a little of the bubbling liquid on his hand, but he also managed to lay the smother covers down without knocking over any of the other evidence under the hood.

"Not until this is... secure," Greg replied and he was a far cry from the bouncy almost scatterbrained young man that had been answering questions and teasing him slightly. But Gil got it secured down, and it didn’t seem like there were any fumes trying to escape. He leaned over to hit the venting switch so they didn’t die of the fumes that were in the air. "There... you got it. Now we rinse off. And then I'll analyze the damn stuff see what it is. You get any one you?"

"A little." Gil was keeping his hand away from himself, and stepped back now that everything seemed to be okay. His heart rate could go back down now. "That was a close call -- here, you have it on both hands, I'll get the tap." 

"I seriously owe you, man," Greg muttered as he ducked his hands under the running water once Gil had turned it on. "That thing was about a few seconds from igniting vapor and that would've been 'Boom! Goodbye Lab'. And us, too, but definitely the lab."

"Hell of a way to start a job," Gil murmured as he ran his hand briefly under water to get the hot substance off, and waited for Greg to finish now that he’d at least rinsed. "Why's the hot plate there?"

Greg rinsed his hands off in a process that Gil Guessed took at least sixty seconds. Soap, rinse, soap, rinse, different soap, slow rinse. "It's the fume hood and lab procedure has us doing all heating chemical tests under the fume hood," Greg said looking at his hand. "I need to find out what that stuff is. For once, I get to prioritize and I can do it a damn sight faster than any where else."

He took a sample of the liquid from that jar, lifting up the fume hood to snatch it, and set it up rapidly for analysis. "Catherine will kill me if I hurt her brand new CSI."

"It's not Catherine anyone would have to worry about," Gil told him as he soaped his hands and cleaned it as thoroughly as he could. He half-way wanted to sit down, plop on the floor and shake, but Greg was movingmovingmoving, and he could definitely keep up. "Hold on, and I'll help you in a minute. Do we need to document before we clean up?"

"Yeah, I'm just rushing this through in case it's something that's going to eat our hands off or something," Greg said, working intensely. He pressed a few buttons. "C'mon, give me a nice harmless volatile...."

At least it wasn't acid. Gil would have noticed, and instead of his hand feeling a little burned and warm it would have been much worse. "It tends to take more than a couple of minutes to run."

"I know, that's why I wanted it on now. Catherine and Warrick were thinking a poison, that's why I'm worried. But smells like some sort of hydrocarbon y'know?" Greg said. "You okay, though?"

He stopped drying his hand long enough to halfway hold it up. "I'm okay. And it did smell like a hydrocarbon -- most of which are pretty poisonous if ingested."

"But not too bad if you splash them over your hands. An irritant, but..." Greg seemed to be calming down. "You want to help me document this up? We're going to have to change that procedure and the guys in the Evidence vault are going to have to start coming in to work on time."

"I'll grab a camera." Gil leaned back to grab the kit from the floor. He had a department issued kit until he started to add his own pieces to it. "I'll be glad when my own camera catches up to me. The delivery truck is supposed to come by tomorrow or the next day."

"You have your own?" Greg asked and he seemed a little envious. "How much CSI work have you done?"

"A couple of years. I saved up a lot of my allowance funds to get a good one of my own. But this lab is run quite a bit differently, and uh..." Gil flipped the lens cap off of his camera. "Excepting the fume hood, I think it's better."

"Yeah, well everything is better until it blows up in your face," Greg replied. "I... I kinda like helping them out with the puzzle part of the investigating. They think I'm crazy because I've been looking at training for it. When I'm the highest qualified lab rat they have."

"If you're interested in it," Gil told him, checking his position on the film roll. "Then go for it. The field training was the worst part, and I didn't even do that the right way."

"Cath might let me try, but... I dunno. I mean, they don't like to lose their DNA guy," Greg said even as he scribbled notes on what was happening.

"You're faster than the guy we had in LA," Gil told him. Either way, Greg was exceptional at what he did. Gil took a few quick shots of the scene as it was, and then lifted the smoother sheet carefully. "You'd take a pay cut."

"Yeah, well... Money's not everything right?" Greg replied watching him work. "See, I process the evidence but it's just information here. It's not the puzzle, it has only the context that I try and find. You know? I could easily process and everything remains just fragments. But I like to know when my trace or DNA cracks a case."

"I'll remember that." Gil laid the sheet to the side, and photographed that quickly before he started to take snaps of the mess that what had happened had left. It looked, now that everything had cooled down, like a very close call. "It's good work. When I worked with the coroners, it bothered me that I never knew if the people who'd been killed... ever had their cases prosecuted, if anyone was ever charged. Most of them ended up being bodies in drawers as far as I knew."

Greg even offered up his hands for photos, the patches looking livid and irritated where he had been splash. "The moment I know what this is, I'm getting some cream for it. Itches like hell," he complained. "Who you going out with tonight then? Maybe I should tell them to go easy."

"Hydrocortisone." Gil took a few more snaps, and then lowered his camera. "I'm not sure who I'm going with tonight, but it's really not necessary."

"Well, Catherine is going to find out anyway so..." Greg shrugged. He finished writing and turned his attention back to him. "You know, there's been gossip already about you. Nick said you're Jim's Companion and Sara keep's half exploding when anyone mentions it. Warrick says she's planning some sort of solo liberation front."

"That's a sad waste of her time. I'm his Companion," Gil told Greg, cutting right through the gossip. He wrote down which photo numbers were the ones that pertained to the incident on a notebook sheet. He honestly couldn't wait until his camera came, with its digital card, his one nod to technology in the field.

"I think she thinks Companions are all abused or something," Greg replied seemingly totally unashamed about the frank discussion. "But, we're talking Jim here and he's so laid back no one had him pegged as a Benefactor. I mean, I can't imagine him even trying to Network. I bet if he'd wanted to, he could have started in at CSI 2 or higher, but he didn't."

There was something about Greg's unashamed forthrightness that made Gil smile as he decided how to tidy up the interior of the fume hood, and where to start cleaning. "I think Jim enjoys making things harder on himself than they need to be. I'm pretty far from abused or exploited."

"Sara gets weird about that sort of thing," Greg said. "Nicky gets freaked over kid cases. But she was talking about some Companion cases on file. That they never got prosecuted because the laws weren't there. I think Jim was getting ready to snarl... you know, he does that lip curl thing? That's the point to start running. I think Catherine sent him out with Warrick because she's already spoken to Sara about it all but she's making it pretty hard on Jim at the moment. Like he's turned into some sort of monster."

"We have internal systems. There's blood payment, and..." Gil shrugged his shoulders a little. Maybe he needed to talk to Sara about it so she'd stop giving Jim a hard time. "If something happens before we're Chosen, we're written off entirely. Whatever happens is just swept under the rug. If she has a problem with the system, she shouldn't be bothering Jim about it. He doesn't like it, either. He encouraged me to take an interest in law enforcement."

"Cool." Greg looked at him, and his face was all sly smiles. "He's good at what he does. He thinks of angles the others don't. But that's why we have everyone. They're each good at what they do."

The printer started to churn out a set of results and Greg's attention focused one the printout. "Hydrocarbons it is. Spiked with a few other things, but it looks like a lighter fluid and turpentine."

"That could explain the skin irritation." Gil moved to lean so he could look at the results over Greg's shoulder. The orientation of the printout was a little different than he was used to, but it still looked good. "Do you want me to run and go stick a note on Catherine's door so she knows what's up when she comes in?"

"Yeah. Take the report up. I'm going to go get some cream from my hands," Greg replied. "Hey, if you guys go out for lunch, don't forget me or something."

"Will do." Gil took the sheet of paper and his own sheet of notes for his film roll, and headed down the hallway to leave the information for Catherine. Over and done with, as easy as that, and it was funny how fast they moved past things in the Vegas lab. How fast things moved period. But he saw the caseload coming in and he could understand the need for it. LA had its share but comparing the sizes of the places, Vegas was proportionately higher on murders.

Greg seemed nice, though. He had even unconsciously flirted with him, much to Gil's amusement. He wondered if he was aware he was doing it. Probably not. Greg was a naturally outgoing guy, too at ease just saying whatever came to his mouth right away. He wouldn't be aware, any more than he was aware of the shift between banter and a straight face when he panicked. Gil walked down the hallway, papers in hand, and then he peeked into Catherine's office.

The 'boss' was in, industriously moving a pile of papers, still looking like she had stepped put of a glamour magazine. She would have done well in LA where people were acutely aware of things like presence, and appearance. She would have had them eating out of her hands.

She glanced up. "Gil... good, I was just one my way down to find you. You survived the Sanders experience?

"Actually, the lab almost exploded." He slipped into the room, offering the sheets of papers. "Someone had left a hot plate turned on under the fume hood, and there was a volatile under it, too."

"...What?" Catherine was looking at him with a peculiar intensity. "Tell me you're joking?"

"No. I photographed it since the contents of the green glass container was boiling off. Greg and I spilled a little trying to smoother it, and the hot plate was turned off. He ran it through trace and it came back as a hydrocarbon -- lighter fluid and turpentine."

"The lab nearly blew up." Catherine restated. "And that doesn't worry you at all?" She seemed more stunned by his lack of reaction than anything else.

"I..." Gil paused, halfway to saying something before he stopped. Yes, but more in that moment than long term. It wasn’t like it was going to almost blow up every day. "Since it didn't actually happen, no?"

"Well you're a cool customer," Catherine replied. "You're both okay?"

"Greg went looking for hydrocortisone. I only ended up with a little on me. It brought some irritation up on his hands." Gil lingered near her desk after he'd handed her the sheets. "I think, uh, that maybe that procedure of putting unlogged evidence under the fume hood should be changed."

"I think you're right considering I'm the one that put it there," Catherine replied. She looked over the sheets while she stood up. "You and Greg wrote it up well. Well done. I'll take a detailed look later. I've had a call in, and I was going to send you out with Sara -- but do you need to get something put on your hand?"

"No, I'm fine." Anyway, he needed to talk with Sara and see what working with her was like, even if Catherine didn't know he knew what she'd been doing. Maybe Catherine didn't even know. "I'd like to go out. I've considered this a tour of the lab."

"It's useful to know how they all work. When it comes to lab work we're pretty close to the top," Catherine said. "Here, Sara is in the garage waiting for Nick to bring in the car from the strangling victim. This needs priority."

Trace collection, then. Fantastic. Gil nodded as he took a step backwards. "Then I'll head over to the garage?"

"Got it in one," Catherine half smiled at him. "Follow her lead. Sara may be a lot of things but she's a damn good CSI."

Funny, since he hadn't thought that she wasn't. He quirked a look at Catherine, as if to say 'what would make you think I wouldn't?' but he didn't say it aloud. "I know. Thanks. I'll be in the garage, then."

Catherine nodded and just looked down as if he was dismissed from her presence. He had the oddest feeling that she was aware of more than she was letting on. Perhaps she wasn't aware that he knew about Sara's possible reactions courtesy of Greg and his open conversations.

Interoffice relations weren't half as interesting as the cases, but as long as he was new, he was going to have to establish his place in them before he could comfortably concentrate solely on cases. Lady Heather had told him that much in one of their many talks. He was doing well so far.

The walk to the garage involved stopping in the locker room to pull on overalls, and then making good time over there with his kit in hand. The garage was clean except for what looked like some permanent stains on the floor of the garage, and the door was open, but the car they were waiting for apparently wasn't there yet. But Sara was.

"Hi."

Sara turned around. "Hi," she said and crossed her arms. "You with me?"

"Mm-hmm. Catherine said we were going to be going over a car for trace. I've been being passed around the lab all evening learning the methodologies here." Gil walked closer to her. Crossing of arms was a protective, barrier-like gesture.

Lady Heather had been very good on teaching nonverbal language. Sara smiled a little obviously, a bit wary. "Bet that was an experience. Seen Bobby's bullet and gun collection?"

"It was impressive. I've spent most of the evening with Greg in DNA and working trace. I like Greg more than Hodges," Gil half-confided.

He saw Sara give a slight chuckle. “Yeah. Greg is more likable. He'd flirt with a stick though." She seemed to relax a little. "So. While we're waiting, I've gotta ask... Don't you want out of the Companion thing?"

"Do you ever want out of the being a white female CSI thing?" Gil quirked a look at her, and went on before she could say anything. "It's what I am. I'm very happy with my life, and I've been afforded a lot of opportunities I wouldn't have been otherwise."

"Yeah and denied other opportunities," Sara insisted, her expression lighting up with intensity. "You have to do what Jim says, he owns you. Like a... pet. That's just wrong."

"There's a certainty and safety in being owned. I'm proud of the brand on my shoulder. I don't have to do what Jim says. We're just lucky that we get along and agree on most things to begin with." Gil tilted his head a little, looking at her expression. "I know what you're thinking."

The set of her mouth told him that she doubted that. "So tell me. What am I thinking?"

"That I need to be liberated, and that I've been raised to think the way I do so of course I don't know I need to be set free from the horrible situation I have to be in." Gil quirked an eyebrow at her, daring her to say he was wrong.

"Look, when you're in a bad situation and you've been raised into it you don't know it's wrong. It seems normal to you. Totally normal, and you don't think you have options," Sara tried to explain.

"To be honest? I legally don't have options. Oh, I could run. Except all of my identification papers mark me as a Companion. And then there's the fact that I actually care about Jim and wouldn't do that to him if I wanted to." Gil turned his eyes to the garage door. There was a vehicle slowly nearing, backing in. A big tow truck. Good. "Which I don't. How do you think we're brought up, anyway? In a kennel, fed scraps?"

"I don't know. But I don't think it's right for one human being to own another, no matter what great deed their ancestor did." Sara replied. "We've dealt with Companion cases. Deaths that never get prosecuted as murder because it's legally 'disposal of property'."

"I've been a Companion case. We try to deal with these situations within our community. It's not fair or just, but things are quietly taken care of. Kill another man's Companion, and die in a botched robbery a few weeks later. Hurt your own..." Gil shook his head a little. "Jim's a good man."

"But he still had you publicly sexually abused and then branded!" Sara said with some conviction. "Jim... is... Well, I didn't think it of him."

"There are rules. Rules that I'm well aware of. We tried to work around them, and he tried to see if they could be circumvented. He was more uncomfortable with the idea than I was." Gil watched the tail lights of the tow truck as it backed into the garage, ready to offload their work for probably the rest of the night. Processing a car took about four hours if there were two people working it and they were thorough. "And I picked the brand myself."

"You did?" Sara shot him a look. "I don't get it Gil, I... just can't see how you can be happy in that situation. He's a lot older, he controls your life, you have no rights. Any other way that would be a recipe for abuse."

"That isn't what the community is set up to do. We have the same incidence of domestic violence as 'normal' society -- did you know that? There's no abnormal rate of abusers. You forget that the mother of most Benefactors was a Companion herself. Benefactors render a service to their country. The head of my college lost her Benefactor to his service years ago in a war. Before that, he encouraged her to work at the college in the first place. They had a daughter who's very independent and smart. It... We're kept. We're protected. We're treated on the whole very well. If I'm a pet, then I'm a very expensive pet who can freely speak his mind."

"It just makes me uncomfortable for you," Sara replied. "I guess the departmental counselor would say I was projecting, but I don't like how Jim has changed. We never argued like that before. Never so badly."

"You were arguing over... what, abuse? And you apparently suggested that he was a man and couldn't understand it, or he was at fault as a man. At least, that was what I got out of Jim before he went to sleep." And getting Jim to be coherent while he was drunk was a chore for Gil. "His parents had previously plucked his last nerve. I'm fairly sure he was a POW. He went missing during his Benefactor Duty. He's been tortured at some point in his life, and you stomped all over him. If he's changed, it's all in your head. You're interpreting information in a different way because you now know that he's a Benefactor."

That had successfully stopped her in her tracks. "He was... I didn't realize, they say all Benefactors get stateside officer roles... I thought..."

"Didn't I just tell you that the head of my college had her Benefactor die in a war? You don't get shot by enemy combatants at a desk job," Gil murmured. He was content to watch the tow truck lower their vehicle carefully, slowly, because concentrating on that kept his voice level and sociable. "You shouldn't assume things about people because of labels. Some people make a career of their Duty."

"Maybe not," Sara acknowledged. "But Jim's never said anything. Never mentioned he was a Benefactor, never mentioned any war or that he wasn't getting along with his parents."

"Jim doesn't tell people these things. He doesn't advertise himself, he doesn't like to wear his problems on his sleeve."

"Yeah, I worked that one out," Sara said. "But Catherine said that people interaction isn't my best thing. She's got a point. I understand what we do. People on the other hand... They get me every time."

"I'm not a natural with people, either. I had my moments when I was younger, but the headmistress tried to teach me how to watch. And listen." The driver of the tow truck was getting out, with paperwork for Sara to sign, Gil could guess. "I want to enjoy working with you, Sara. Let me."

"I've got no problem with you, Gil. I just... want you to know if you need something, then talk to me," she said and turned to sign receipt. "Now let's see how we go about processing this truck huh?"

"Do you want prints or trace?" Gil asked as he eyed the old, slightly beaten up looking vehicle. "If I ever need something, I will talk to you. I just find it very unlikely."

"Unlikely is fine. It's just so there is a choice," Sara said. "So, why don't you impress me with how you'd work over this truck huh?"

Gil grinned as he backtracked to get his kit. "I'd love to. So, prints or trace -- you choose what you prefer and I'll take the other."

"You take trace," Sara said and there was a challenge there but one that he understood more than her concerns about who and what he was. "Show me what you can do."

And with that she picked up her own print kit to start to work, not giving him any more instruction than that.

He didn't need it, though. Gil knew how to photograph the generals, and then start to look for things -- samples, and then a pill caplet that he photographed with ruler, part of a tooth, a crown or... something, that he repeated the technique on. He worked quietly, meticulously, shifting when Sara needed to lean in somewhere.

She was watching him, he was watching her. It was pretty funny in its own way. When she first began speculating aloud about what might have happened, it surprised him, but soon he was joining in. And the hypotheses bounced back and forth and when Sara was thinking and talking work she lost most of those sharp edges in her conversations.

Gil decided that he liked her. She was rough around the edges but she was likable and they worked well together. They thought along the same lines, and he could probably work well with her. Once they'd gathered the trace and the prints, and Gil had made sure all of his was carefully labeled, he declared, "I think we've got enough to keep trace and prints occupied for days."

"No kidding," Sara replied straightening up. She paused a moment and looked at him. "Jim was right. You're not just competent, you're good. I've known people who've been doing this a long time not hit every area like you did. Not without prompting."

"Thanks. I like to be thorough. There's no need to rush processing a scene." Gil twisted his head, cracking his neck and then his shoulders as he sat back. "I still have a lot to learn. If I do something wrong, please tell me. I want to be better."

Sara shook her head a little ruefully. "The moment you do something *really* wrong, Gil, I think I'll be marking it off on the calendar. But believe me, we're all still learning here."

He liked that attitude towards things. Gil straightened up, and watched her collect her fingerprints up. "Let's go see what trace can make of all of this. There's someone out there missing a tooth."

She smiled at him and led the way. As first days went, this was doing okay. Avert a lab explosion, process a car in an unusual homicide, knock down a few prejudices on the way...

He was pretty sure Jim would be proud of him.

* * *

They couldn't always have their nights off together and it was almost as if his parents had some sort of alarm that told them when he was at home on his own. Either that or they phoned a lot more frequently than he thought and Gil intercepted the calls.

He shouldn't have been sitting in the living room drinking. Not when most of his life was so good, so... right. He was hopelessly in love with Gil, to the point where he had made discrete inquiries about same sex weddings and discovered they could be done.

And he'd been really happy with that and thought about rings and finally being able to think that Gil was choosing to be with him. Right up to the point where the fine print kicked. Yes, he could do all that -- marry his male Companion as long as he had sired an Heir to the Family line.

It all came back to that. It came back to losing Ellie, to being cheated on, to every last moment of failure thrown in his face as his parents pushed and start talking about invoking their right to take his sperm and choose a surrogate and it left him every time with a need for alcohol, a depression that never moved and no way forward because he wasn't going to date anyone. The thing with Sofia had showed him where that was likely to go.

Perfectly fucking nowhere. She'd apparently thought that he was platonic with Gil. At least she'd had the guts to come right out and say that was why she'd changed her mind -- that she'd caught them kissing in the parking lot, she'd realized that they were a package deal, and while she thought Gil was likable enough, it wasn't her thing.

That had been months ago, and it wasn't as if he was ever going to get another half a chance. He wasn't a looker, except if a person counted that he looked tired. Gil was head over heels for him, even with his moods and his trouble sleeping, and Jim wasn't sure how he did it. Or why.

So he tried to keep his stress and depressions to days when Gil wasn't there because he wanted to be happy with him. They'd transformed the house, they'd transformed their lives and they had people come over now and did things and....

Then he'd get a call and emotional blackmail dropped on him from a great height. At first it had been gentle, but now things were getting worse. The remarks more wounding, more liable to send him looking for the bottle. 

And then he'd know he'd disappoint Gil as well and everything just got worse. The nightmares would be back, and he'd just want everything to stop.

He didn't know how to stop it. But he was pretty sure that Gil didn't know what was going on, so that was a consolation. Unless Gil was trying to catch the calls for him on days when he was home. He usually got to the phone before Jim did, so it was a possibility, and it made Jim wonder just how often it was 'damn telemarketers' calling. If it was his parents, then it wasn't much of a lie -- they were trying to solicit semen from him for a grandkid.

It wasn't that he didn't want kids. He did. He just didn't want that heartbreak again of losing them, didn't want the mess and the stress of a wife or a surrogate fucking around with his rights. He wanted a choice, and if he was going to have an heir, he wanted something to do with his or her life.

He couldn't see a way out of it, and that feeling was never good for him. It always took him right back to his Duty. When they'd been captured.

A single sentence of description that couldn’t hope to convey what had happened. His parents had always wondered why he hadn't said anything and it wasn't just because of the feelings of shame which he knew were normal, it was because he just couldn't think of any words that would come even remotely close to what had happened. Saying nothing was better than making an attempt in this case because people would get the wrong idea and neatly parcel up that time in their heads and there would be assumptions, and a difference in the way things were that wasn't true to life.

And he couldn't share the experience well enough to be understood, so Jim just... didn't. Hadn't even told Gil, but every once in a while he caught Gil running his fingers over scar lines. Gil didn't ask, about that or the nightmares. He'd probably made assumptions, and Jim couldn't be sure they were right.

Jim couldn't be sure of much of anything, and it was pissing him off.

He was angry and stressed and he woke up in a sweat, never getting enough sleep, and he was losing weight which hadn't been a part of the diet and exercise plan and he was worried that he was taking it out on Gil even though he was trying to hide it.

It was funny how things could go to hell just because he was involved.

Jim didn't expect the door to open just then, or to hear Gil out in the hallway, moving around, getting his jacket off, setting stuff down. "Hey, Jim? Are you in here?"

Fuck, he hadn't had chance to clean up or do anything. "Uh... yeah. Yeah, I'm in here."

"Hey. I got out early because the lab lost power. Some idiot took out a transformer with their truck." Gil wandered into the room. He wasn't quite so perfectly groomed as he'd been when he was fresh out of the CCCC. They didn't always have time for him to shave, and when he was crawling around under a car or sifting through dirt for evidence, he usually came home looking like he had been. His hair was sticking up here and there, so he'd definitely been rummaging around a scene.

Gil stopped short when he caught sight of the whiskey bottles.

Jim looked at him and then sighed. He wasn't going to defend himself, there was no point. "I uh..." He looked at his glass and put it down.

"I was going to ask what you did on your day off today, but I guess I have my answer." Gil stood there, frowning a little like he wasn't sure what to do next, and with his stance he looked a little like a pissed off cowboy. The bow legs showed worse in his dirty scene clothes. "So, what happened?"

"Nothing." Jim considered getting up and striding across the room and out of the way of confrontation and then realized that he had drunk probably a little too much to carry that off. Fuck. "I'm fine."

"You're drinking, and you've probably been drinking for hours. So, what happened, Jim?" Gil moved to kneel down beside his chair, taking the glass from his hands. It was funny that Gil could kneel down like that, and still not ever be submissive to Jim.

"I'm having a bad day." The moment he snapped it out he realized it had sounded harsh and angry. He sighed. "Sorry. It's not your fault."

And maybe he had had too much because his words just kept on coming even though his brain was flagging up an urgent halt. "It's my fault. My fault for picking a male Companion, my fault for being the stupid fuck who got cheated on, and then allowed it to go on as if my daughter was my own flesh and blood because I keep forgetting she isn't. All the time, and everything boils down to the fact I'm fucking up everybody's lives because I really don't want to date a woman and I don't want them to court order my sperm out of me like Dad just threatened because there are more pleasant ways to get fucked over than using the legal system."

Gil's lips went tight, and he set the glass aside, taking Jim's hands in his own now that Jim didn't have his drink. "I told you I was working on a solution, Jim. The only way to get them to stop harassing you is to... well, you have to provide an heir."

"I can't do that. I can't because it means doing things I just can't do," Jim replied wishing he didn't feel quite so clearly aware of his problems considering the alcohol he had managed to drink. "It's too much."

"I know you don't want to date, Jim." Gil leaned closer, fingers stroking over Jim's hands. He was probably trying to relax him and Jim wasn't sure that it wasn't working. "But you can find a surrogate on your own."

Jim shook his head. "Come on, Gil, no one would be interested in me enough to date let alone have my kid. And I couldn't lose them out of my life. I... I've lost too much already, I can't do it again. Stupid really. Benefactors are meant to have everything and they make out it's all benefits, all privilege and the Duty is nothing much. "

Nothing. Yeah right. How long had he been missing? Over eighteen months and longer trying to do... whatever the hell it was, trying to survive when everything went to hell out there, when it had been bombed to hell and the few left alive tried to escape.

He didn't want to think about it, but Gil was shaking his head at him. "Jim. Jim, I know that your duty wasn't 'nothing much'. I meant someone who wouldn't take your son or your daughter away from you. There are people out there who wouldn't."

"Sure." Jim had the craving to reach again for the alcohol. "Gil, no one knows what it was like, okay? Not because I have to keep it a secret but... Because I don't know how to tell anyone. I really don't. It's doesn't fit into words."

And he was horrified that he had even referred to it indirectly.

Gil exhaled, and he tilted his head down for a moment, tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth for a second. "Okay. We'll start there, and then I'll get back to my original point. Tell me what happened, Jim. Try for words."

Jim just looked at him, feeling his mind go blank. "I... can't. I... Gil, I can't, I don't know how to even try."

"It's hard. So you give it a couple of phrases but no one really gets it. I understand that." And he would in a way. His file said he was 'molested', tada, end of story, pretty non-graphic, but there was a little something in his medical file and if Jim thought about it, he still didn't know the whole story. Every once in a while Gil said something about it, in a half-hearted way like he wanted to talk about it, but not. Gil was still looking up at him, earnestly, concentrating his attention on Jim. "I just want to understand, Jim. I know what happened is a lot bigger than you ever said. You have marks on you, burns. You weren't just sick."

"No. I wasn't," Jim murmured. He exhaled. "I, I ... we got left behind. I went back to get Robbie and his team and they left without us. Guess they had to ... and... we tried really hard not to get caught. Half Robbie's team got killed." It was strange to feel the taste of words long unspoken in his mouth.

And Gil was just watching him. Not even nodding or any of the usual patronizing things that Jim associated with 'listening'. He just moved his fingers over Jim's hands, slowly massaging them out of the almost fists they were in. "It's not your fault."

"People have a tendency to die or get killed around me," Jim said and tried to relax his fingers. "My debriefing was a bit like this. I think I covered the whole time with the phrase, we were kept as prisoners of war and not given the due consideration that would be expected. I mean, it was obvious. I didn't have to say anything."

Gil still kept watching him, gently rubbing at his fingers. "That's also not your fault. They broke the conventions, the rules of warfare."

"They broke us, Gil. All of us eventually one way or another." Jim tossed that out into conversation. Something he had never been able to admit to his dad. "I mean, there wasn't much military justification for it. They just wanted to. They... had the power and we didn't. They were killing us very slowly over that period of time just because they could. "

He sounded so bitter even to himself and there they were, the images flashing back at him. Bright, sharp enough to make him flinch. Robbie crying when Jeff finally died and then refusing to speak at all. The night they had picked one of them and then tied them all so they could watch him tortured nearly to death. He'd died a couple of days later anyway. He couldn't even remember the kid's name anymore and somehow that was the worst thing. A betrayal of sorts.

"Jim." Gil's voice cut through the thoughts and images, soft toned. Gil probably wouldn't have survived it. Jim didn't know how he survived it, and he was younger than Gil was when it had happened. So damn young to have everything go to hell like that, no choice except to try to keep alive to spite them. "You don't have to keep killing yourself just so it's... your choice instead of theirs."

He twisted his head to look at him. He hadn't thought of it like that. "I'm... I'm not... I'm doing this so I don't wake up screaming and keep you awake. I want to get rid of it. I don't want to remember. I thought that maybe it felt something like that to be you. To be a Companion, you know? Not having a choice in what happened, not being... a person. Less than a person."

"And that was why you didn't pick me up for so long. I don't feel like less than a person. In the coroner's office, we had so many people who didn't have a choice in what happened in their lives. Children whose parents decided they were just too much trouble or hassle to let them live any longer. Spouses and friends who made the same decisions, random killings. My lack of choice has... a strange status to it, but it isn't as if the rest of the world is free from a worse lack of choice." Gil inched closer, his chest pressing against Jim's knees. "You're killing yourself, Jim. Before the, the nightmares and your memories can. That's not how you take control again, by hurting yourself."

"It's better than hurting you," Jim said the words involuntarily. They took him by surprise and he shuddered a little. "I love you, Gil. I was pretty sure after everything love was something else that got sacrificed to the Benefactor Duty, but... then I picked you up and I told myself I'd provide for you and we'd lead separate lives. I'd done it with Janice for a long time. And I thought things wouldn't change."

Gil's expression had shifted towards quietly sad, but he was still watching Jim's face. "I know. I didn't want to let you do that. You mean too much to me to just... have let you do that. You mean too much to me for me to just watch while you hurt. I can't take the war back. I can't make you... not have been a prisoner of war. But give me a couple of days to work on the heir situation, Jim. Please."

Jim smiled at him. "I'm not going to do anything Gil. Except maybe snore louder in bed, be grumpy as hell. I can't walk away from anything, and I'm not going to. I promise that. I'll do something. Think of something. Give them the damn sperm and pretend I'm okay with it."

"No, don't do that. Just... don't answer the phone if it's them. I have an idea." Gil tilted his head down, and kissed Jim's knuckles. "I have a few of them, if you'll let me try."

"Gil, you can try what you want, I just..." Wished he hadn't drunk so much because he wanted Gil. "You work this out and you get to choose anything you want."

"Anything I want, huh?" Gil sat back, crouching comfortably now, but still watching Jim intently. "I have everything I want. I have a tarantula, a broken in pickup truck, and a Jim. C'mon, let me get you to bed."

"I think my legs got drunk before the rest of me," Jim said and gave a half quirk of a smile. "Could be difficult."

"I'm up to the challenge." Just like that, Gil quirked a smile at him. Moments like that lasted only so long -- confronting their problems face on for short, almost bearable periods of time. Gil had backed off before Jim had to do anything stupid like cry. Maybe they had the same coping mechanisms in that respect. It didn't really matter because Gil was standing up, pulling at Jim's hands. "Wait until you see the case I started on with Warrick today. We'll need you on it tomorrow."

He stood and wobbled into Gil's arms. That was okay. It was okay to hug another guy if you were under the influence. He remembered Greg doing a lot of hugging of everyone when they'd all been round not that long ago. "Yeah....? Tough one?"

"Possible serial. He was caught in the act of burying two victims that had no visible connection." Gil wrapped his arm around Jim from behind. Hell, Gil was his Companion. He didn't even have to make up an excuse if he wanted to hug him. He could do anything he wanted to Gil, except if he did something unacceptable there was a pretty big chance that Gil would push him down the stairs he was trying to walk them both up.

Or not, since Jim was pretty sure that Gil loved him, too, and love did stupid things to people.

"Sounds... interesting," he replied, holding on to him and wishing he hadn't let him down. He'd let Gil do anything. Anything he wanted and he'd love him for it to. Guess he did stupid things too.

"It's interesting. He swears he didn't kill them and that was when we realized there were two. I need to take a shower after all of that dirt, so..." So Gil was somehow getting him up the stairs, and then they were walking down the hallway to their bedroom.

"Maybe a shower will wake me up enough to go to sleep," Jim said just about coordinating going up the stairs.

"Okay." Gil turned left instead of right, and walked Jim carefully into the bathroom. He was a little drunk for sex, which was a shame, but Gil didn't really have qualms about his state of soberness or lack of when it came to sex. So, maybe...

Gil flicked on the lights, and guided Jim so he could lean against the counter.

He managed that and he always forgot the real curse of alcohol was to make you horny but not give you the means to do much about it. Unless he sucked Gil off or Gil fucked him. Both seem like pretty good ideas right now. "Gi~il..."

He nearly fell over. Sooner he was in the shower the better.

"Mm?" It was more of a questioning sound than any word, and Gil was already starting to unbutton his shirt. "Oh, shit. I should get the water going first. Hold on."

Jim opted in the absence of Gil to hold him up to sit down. And start taking off his shirt. He wasn't that good at it.

"..want you, Gil..."

He could hear the water running now, and Gil moved to close the door so the heat wouldn't just disappear and leave them cold. "Hmn?"

"Want sex, Gil." He was proud of that. He'd nearly said 'fuck'. "Fuck. Wanna..." Well, it had lasted all of two seconds not saying it. Letting out even the hints about what had happened had filled him with a surge of restless energy.

"Yeah?" He was sitting... sitting on the closed toilet lid, okay, that explained how he was sitting, and Gil knelt down in front of him again. "Yeah? I was thinking about making it a bath and not a shower, but we could try. Hot water, you, me, your liquored up libido..."

“The spirit is willing... 'cause it's met a lot of other spirits, but the flesh is gonna be pretty weak," Jim replied looking down at him. "You wanna try things reversed? You get to do all the work."

"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer the first time we do that for you to be.... sober? It might be a blow to my ego if you don't remember in the morning." Somehow, his shirt had been unbuttoned and Gil was leaning forwards to kiss his chest while he started to unbutton Jim's pants. He was only half-hard, and that was a damn shame.

"I'll remember it," Jim replied. "I want you to make sure I remember it." He tried a bit of a leer but he couldn't keep a straight face. "It's not like you don't know the mechanics by now."

"Maybe we'll need to be standing up after all. You think if I lean you against the wall, you can stay standing?" Sure he could, and Gil was a little taller than him. Gil was slipping his hand into Jim's pants, fingers tugging gently over the skin of Jim's dick before he was even undressed.

"I can stay standing," he promised. Even his cock stirred a little from its alcoholic haze at his touch. Hey, this would be good. He hadn't bottomed... well in way too long. And that had been with someone who cared as little about him as Janice had. So, not at all really. Anything Gil did was going to feel great.

"Okay." Gil leaned back a little, and stopped tugging on Jim's dick because he was making him lift his ass up so Gil could pull his pants off for him. Then he was sitting naked on the lid of his toilet, and Gil was standing up, undressing himself in the same half-thought out striptease way that he'd done when he'd first gotten Jim to bend rules.

No one at work would believe it, but Gil was pretty vacant on the personal morals front. And Jim loved it.

Who wouldn't? Gil had been taught sex and had a lot of theories he wanted to try in practice. With him. He'd sit and discuss them with him in the same tone of voice that he used when he was discussing something fascinating and then he'd turn and give a look that told him he knew exactly what he was doing and what was Jim going to do about it? They'd had sex in some pretty interesting positions and Jim was sure that Gil spent his first paycheck at the place he got the first butt plug.

Well, that and part of the truck. Gil had been so happy to contribute to buying it himself, and he'd bought a cover for the back so he could stow his kit and equipment in it and lock it. But Jim enjoyed Gil's theoretical interest maybe a little more than his practicality. His dick was finally coming to life, watching Gil squeeze himself through his jeans while he toed his sneakers off.

It was like having his own porn movie in front of him. "You look gorgeous even covered in dirt." Jim said after a moment. "You roll in the crime scene or something?"

"Sort of. I dug it out. Low man on the totem pole gets to do it while everyone else sifts." But Gil liked it, Jim could tell. He was grinning when he said it, even if the skin where he had been covered with a t-shirt was a different color than the exposed skin. He squirmed and worked his way out of the jeans with one hand, because the other was pretty occupied stroking himself. 

"Do we have lube in here?"

"Gil, we have lube in the kitchen. Of course we've got lube in here." Jim had a vague memory of finding it in the fridge one night when he went to make a snack. He still wasn't sure why. Gil would no doubt surprise him with it.

Just, he'd surprise it with him some other time. 

"You weren't supposed to find that." Gil kicked his jeans off and up against the door, joining Jim's clothes in a pile that was going to need to be run through the laundry before any of it was worn again. Gil popped open the medicine cabinet, and leaned in to look. "We've -- yeah, in here. I'm going to duck under the water for a second to rise off."

"Give me time and I'll be with you," Jim replied and smirked to himself. He could brush his teeth or something before Gil got out. Lessen the intoxicating fumes from his breath.

As he was, there was a good chance Gil could get drunk just kissing him. Gil glanced at him, and seemed to deem that a good idea, because he ducked quickly under the shower. No modesty, and that was nice. Gil had a great ass that Jim liked to look at.

He'd spent the best part of a Sunday morning looking at Gil's ass not that long ago. The covers had slipped off a bit and the light had just caught it... there and he'd just lain there staring and unwilling to let even the shadow of his fingers ruin the view.

Toothpaste. Brush. A near poke in the eye, toothbrush nearly up his nose -- no way should he be navigating the penis today. That nearly made him laugh. It made it sound like he and Gil only shared one between them.

He managed not to choke to death laughing at himself while he brushed at his teeth, and somewhere in there, Gil had materialized beside him with the spit cup for Jim to rinse with. He waffled between playful and soft when Jim was drunk, like he wasn't sure what was the best approach when it was really whatever he wanted to do that worked best. 

"I'm not longer a man half composed of dirt."

"Hey. Congratulations," Jim replied trying not to chuckle any more. "I think I'm getting better. I haven't maimed myself."

"I noticed." Gil took the toothbrush from his hand once Jim lowered it, and worked around him, leaned against him while Jim rinsed and spit. "So, still feeling up to it?"

"More than ever. Alcohol in moderate doses makes me horny," Jim said as if reciting some scientific fact. "If I had the flesh rooting for the spirit, you'd never have bent over for the soap in there, but I know my limitations."

"Not too many." Gil reached around him, and groped him by stroking fingers loosely over his dick. He shifted his hips, and Jim wanted to grin when Gil's hard cock rubbed against his ass cheek. Yeah, that was good. "C'mon."

"We going in the shower?" Jim asked pressing back against Gil. Of course Gil was ready, he could be ready in seconds. He was only twenty-one after all and probably thought about sex all the time in and around the murder cases.

Gil was ready to go at the drop of a hat, and sometimes Jim wondered about him and his bugs, but... "Mmhm." Gil pulled at him, taking a step backwards. His hands were on Jim's hips, keeping him steady as they walked.

He was getting better with each moment. He loved Gil being so close, so near to him. It was nice not to have to be responsible for once and do what everyone expected. "Good... When was the last time we did it in the shower?"

"Last week? No, two weeks before that." The water was running, warm but not poundingly heavy, probably because the only pounding going on was going to be of an entirely different sort. Gil still walked Jim under the spray once they were in the shower, and his fingers moved up from Jim's hips, wandering over his stomach and chest. "Love how you feel."

It was nothing to how Jim felt with those fingers wandering. "Is amazing... that... you want this old... man." Okay so he wasn't past it but sometimes Gil's energy made him realize the difference between them. The hot spray was helping to clear his head a little and he was a bit steadier.

At least until Gil gently bit at the back of his neck, nuzzling against him before he kissed over the faint pressure he'd made. "People are funny about what they want. No sane Benefactor was supposed to have chosen me, and yet... Here you are." Getting his dick stroked by a hot younger guy who was determined to try to fix his life for him. Yeah, and Gil thought he was the lucky one?

"I never said I was sane," Jim replied even as the hot water splashed over them both. "Just lucky. Or smart. Probably lucky." Gil could kiss in a way that would make his head spin at the best of times.

"Luck is a mental concept." Gil nudged Jim forwards, and he couldn't do much more than put his hands up to keep himself steady. He was pushed right up against the wall, with hot water splashing over the top of his head, and pouring down his back. It had to be getting Gil almost right in the face. "Unless you mean 'getting lucky'."

"That too," he murmured splaying his hands against the tiles wall and altering his stance a little, opening his legs a little. He wanted him, he was hoping they would do it. Complicated and orchestrated wasn't his thing. He wanted to ride the feeling. He wanted Gil to be there.

As simple as that, because he didn't need fanfare. Jim just needed to stop thinking and to concentrate on the feeling of Gil sliding the fingers of one hand down between his ass cheeks. There wasn't lube involved yet, but there were wet fingers and Gil teasing his thumb right against the ring of puckered skin.

It was good. He remembered it feeling good even with people who didn't care. Fuck, yeah. He leaned forward a little so he could push his ass out. Fuck. "That's… fucking good Gil."

Even better because Gil was almost plastered against his backside, and he still had one arm wrapped around Jim. He didn't do a whole lot of looking and admiring when they had sex. He liked to get up close and feel and touch and that kind of made it hard to see much. Jim didn't mind. "Yeah? Tell me to stop if you..."

"Don't stop. I need to feel... you." He nearly said feel alive but that took him towards memories he had been deftly avoiding. He just wanted him in him, someone who wanted him, he cared about it. It would be a first.

Gil bent his head over Jim's shoulder for a moment, and then he pulled back for a second. Lube, right, that was a good thing to remember even with running water, and Jim could live without an arm around his body for a second while Gil unscrewed the cap and squeezed some onto his hand.

It felt cool even in the heat of the shower. He could only imagine what the lube in the fridge would feel like when this was enough to make him shiver for the brief moment that it was cool against his skin. He was teasing inside now and he was aware that he was breathing hard, gasping nearly.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Gil mumbled that against the back of his neck, and he worked a second finger slowly into Jim's ass, curling it in so he could bend them together, stretch him out.

"God, yeah..." Jim held himself still with an effort wondering how much of the dizzy feeling was alcohol or Gil related. Both probably.

"I'm just hoping I come in your ass and not on it," Gil laughed, the sound quiet and content and maybe a little nervous as he twisted his fingers and hit right there, right over his prostate.

He didn't have enough air to bellow -- it came out a little like a whimper even as he couldn't stop the movement that went with it. That woke up the half dormant parts of his body. "Oh... god yeah...."

It was like someone had stuck a cattle prod against his dick, but in a good way. A little oversensitive, but that was enough feeling to get him going, and Gil groaned a little, rubbing his dick against Jim's ass a little harder while he kept making that motion. "You like that?"

"Are you kidding?" Jim said incredulously. "Mmm... yeah... yeah, just... yeah..."

"Yeah?" Gil teased a little, sliding his fingers in as deep as he could, a little past that spot that felt so good. "Are you ready?"

"You know me and patience levels don't go together," Jim encouraged feeling the burn of a need to have something more in there. "I'm ready. I've had... more practice than you."

"Okay..." Gil tilted his head down, chin against Jim's shoulder again, pressing close against him when he pulled his fingers out of Jim's ass. There was lube from... fuck, maybe he was still drunk, because he wasn't sure where Gil got the lube from, but he was smearing more of it, cold and slick, against Jim's ass.

That was all that mattered. That and the pressure, the push... and the familiar burn of tight muscle trying to give way. "F..Fuck..." 

Gil was pretty decent down there, and Jim hadn't ever thought about it much except that Gil was a good handful when he was hard and he was trying to put that up Jim's ass now, so maybe he should've thought about it before. But Gil was giving the softest moan, pushing in slow, so damn slow and steady.

He was liking it. He felt good and maybe it was something that he never thought to experience because Companions didn't top. Not officially. 

Not letting Gil top with a cock like that would be something worthy of criminal charges. He was stretched to his limits, every millimeter of progress making him tremble. "Yeah... god, Gil.... you got that penis on steroids or something.?"

"No..." He could still hear the faint edge of a moan in Gil's voice when he answered, and once he was in, he wrapped both arms around Jim again, just leaning there. "God, you're so tight. This, this feels a, amazing..."

Jim tried not to chuckle and exhaled. "You think I did it out of... need for exercise?" he managed. He could feel it everywhere.

And he could feel against his back when Gil sucked in a breath, resting his wet head against Jim's ear for a moment. They probably had another ten minutes of hot water. "No, but it still feels..." Gil gave a shaky sigh, and shifted his hips. "So good."

"Wait… 'til you start moving," Jim managed. Except he couldn't wait. He had always been a little impatient when under the influence. At the shift of hip, he groaned and clutched at the water slick tiles. "Yeah.. move and move hard. Wanna feel it."

"Not going to break you," Gil agreed in a quiet grunt. He was pretty sure that Gil had told him that very thing at some point -- that Jim wasn't going to break him -- and that was a very true thing. Not with sex, at least. Gil slid a palm to rest flat on Jim's stomach, and his other hand wrapped around Jim's dick just when he started to rock his hips in and out. 

That felt fantastic as he braced and moved with the thrusts a little. Gil was very satisfying when it came to filling and moving and doing two things at once. Fucking has ass and jerking him off -- multitalented and multitasking. No wonder he was up for promotion already.

Not that Catherine had anything to jerk off other than some really tidy case files that Gil turned in. That was a weird thought, a thought Jim didn't have to entertain for very long because Gil was working his hips harder, faster, and finally starting to pound into him until the sound of his balls slapping against Jim's ass joined the noise of the water falling from the shower head.

Then it was just easy to ride with it, to feel the burn in him and hardness hitting over his prostate time and time again until there was nothing but burst of lights behind closed eyelids, and clenching muscle giving way under hard hot thrusts and...

He didn't want it to end, but he knew he could get it again, any time he wanted, any time he asked, and Gil would appreciate the change up, probably, because Gil was making an amazing sound right near his ear, quiet and low and satisfied, and his hand was shaky when it stroked Jim off.

The alcohol had dulled things enough that he hadn't come immediately but now he was getting there and that sound was enough to spark things in him. His cock was hard and they were moving together and he was pushing against Gil's hand feeling himself tighten in preparation. He pushed hard not to just fall over the edge but jump into climax.

And there in a twist and a gulping cry he was coming, his muscles tightening and spasming in a natural response.

His Companion kept stroking him, milking his cock even when he was done and his muscles were twitching, shaking with the shivering aftershocks. Gil was still plastered against his back, still in him, breathing hard and still feeling pretty hard when he stopped stroking Jim. "So good."

He was loose and relaxed now, in a post orgasmic haze that was better than any alcohol induced blurriness. "Oh god yeah...yeah...come inside me..." He wanted to feel that warmth deep in him.

Gil gave a quiet chuckle, and turned his face to press his mouth against Jim's neck. "I already did."

“You could do it again...?" He must be drunk on sensation to miss that. "Oh that was... great... just... great."

Fingers traced up his stomach, and over his ribs, and Gil was still leaning into him. "Yeah, it was. I don't think I actually can just yet. It aches, but... so good." Gil was going to have to pull out eventually, and that was going to feel interesting for both of them.

And the damn shower was running out of hot water. Typical. "I'd nearly forgotten what it was like..." He murmured.

"Sex under the shower?" Gil joked quietly. He moved his hands to Jim's sides, and leaned his hips back, pulling out. Not quite as bad as the fullness of going in, but Jim had forgotten what it was like to be young and almost always hard.

He made a grunting sounds and was happy to let the shower clean them both. "You know, I was pretty determined to have a crappy night?" Jim murmured even as he turned a little unsteadily. "You ruined that right off."

"Good. Maybe I can finish off the night by making you eat dinner with me before we both pass out and sleep?" Gil kept his hands on Jim's hips, and he was leaning in again like he wanted to kiss Jim again, like he couldn't help it. "Water's turning cold."

"Only if I can eat in my robe," Jim replied kissing him again, glad for the mint of the toothpaste then even as he fumbled to turn off the shower. "Dinner then sleep is good. Or we could get take-out."

"I was thinking of hot sandwiches. We've got bread, cheese, I think we're set.” Somewhere in the kissing, Gil backed Jim out of the shower, and into the bathroom.

He'd completely ruined Jim's plans for a miserable night.

Somehow, somewhere in the getting downstairs and blatant groping under bathrobes when they were meant to be making the hot sandwiches, and the fact they ended up taking them back to bed with them and eating them in among seeing how close they could really get, Jim decided he might just forgive him.

Just this once.

* * *

He was insane.

If either of them were insane, then Gil knew it had to be him who was right out of his mind. He'd shown up to work early in the hopes of getting hold of Catherine before she wouldn't accept any interruptions. But it meant waiting just outside of her door, peering down the hallway at every noise and every set of high heels that headed that way.

There were a surprising amount in CSI and though he knew Catherine was generally early in, she did have a tendency to get called in by the sheriff or Covallo for whatever reason was high on the political agenda that night.

He respected Catherine. It was hard not to because she could be tough as nails when things hit the fan and she never compromised on the evidence and never really gave up even on cold cases. If there was one fault he'd noticed, it was her inability to pick men who were any good for her. It was almost as if it was the Catherine that had been the exotic dancer all that time ago was the one picking when it should have been the CSI Supervisor.

Old habits and their inability to die, Gil guessed. He'd just seen some of the things that happened with men she'd dated, things that had gone wrong, bits of the office rumor mill, and it was sad. It was like she was still punishing herself, and in Gil's mind that immediately linked her to Jim, at least in personal styles.

Hopefully she wouldn't punch him when he was done explaining himself.

No one could ever know with Catherine. Warrick and Nick liked to exchange stories in the break room although he was pretty sure some of it was made up to stir Greg up.

"A line at my door and the shift hasn't even started." Catherine rounded the corner. "Something I can do for you, Gil?"

"I need to talk. It's not work-related." He stepped back from the door so she could unlock it with him not in the way.

She looked at him curiously and gestured him inside. "Come in, shut the door, and let's hear it," she said putting down her papers and sitting at her desk.

"Yes, ma'am." And now that he was about to ask it, Gil wasn't sure how or if he even should. He still closed the door, and then he walked towards her desk. "I was wondering if you'd be willing to do Jim and me a favor." He took a deep breath. "I'm not actually sure how to phrase this," he warned, like he was warning her of... well, the very real possibility that she wasn't going to like it. "And despite all of my training there's no simple polite way to phrase this. Is there a possibility that I could talk you into having Jim's baby?"

Catherine nearly choked a laugh of surprise. "Excuse me? Did you just say what I thought you said?"

Unfortunately he had. Gil shifted his feet a little, and tried not to take the laughter personally. "Yes?"

Catherine blinked at him. "This is a joke, right? You've concealed a camera on yourself somewhere and you're filming this for the guys?"

He was starting to wish that it was a joke instead of a very real request, because then he wouldn't feel quite so stupid. "No, I really meant it. I'm almost at my wits' end trying to solve this problem."

"Why don't we back up a bit?" Catherine said a little more seriously. "What problem... and why on earth would you think I could help you?"

Telling her that she had to still be dating men that were bad for her for some reason wasn't the best tactic to take. No, he was going to try to be more diplomatic than that, so Gil sat down across from her and tried to gather together his thoughts. "The problem is that Jim's parents want to... essentially court order him to masturbate into a cup so they can use his semen to impregnate a woman so there'll be an Heir. Or they want him to marry."

"I thought Jim had a daughter. This isn't one of those things where the Heir has to be a son is it?" Catherine asked skeptically.

"Ellie isn't genetically his. His ex-wife cheated on him." Gil sat back, arms resting loosely on the armrest. "Apparently she cheated on him a lot. His parents had her DNA tested before they'd create a trust fund for her."

Catherine looked a little more serious then. It seemed she knew all about being cheated on and what that felt like. "I would've thought that he would go for giving them the cup of sperm. I'd forgotten there was legislation for that."

"Losing Ellie hurt him a lot. He doesn't want to know that he has a kid somewhere out in New England who doesn't know him from a hole in the wall. His parents are so wrapped up in the 'there has to be an heir' part of the system that they've apparently forgotten that it's nice if that heir actually has a family. For any surrogate, the kid's going to be a source of income. She could legally keep Jim away, but not his parents. It's..." Gil sighed. "Messy?"

"Sounds like it. So Jim wants a kid that he knows and what... the kid gets Benefactor status and trust funds and all that? " Catherine asked, her voice still a little shy of being completely incredulous.

"All that," Gil agreed. "It's not the easy way out, but he... really gets along well with kids and if he has to have an heir, he wants to be part of his life. Her life. Whatever. They're not picky about gender."

"And the problem with the dating thing? Getting married?" She looked directly at Gil as if challenging him.

"He's done it before and she cheated on him from the start? Strangely enough, most women who're actually interested in Jim... don't know what to do with me." He shrugged. "I make them uncomfortable."

"They probably think they'd end up three in a bed," Catherine drawled. "That's not for everyone. Okay, so Jim is quietly going to pieces over this? Is that why he's been looking so lousy recently?"

"Yes." And Gil was starting to feel a little ragged around the edges himself. He could handle Jim, but every day and trying to walk the line between taking care of Jim and just locking the fridge and throwing out all of his booze was getting harder not to cross.

"And it's worse than a bit of depression isn't it?" Catherine said astutely, making him uncomfortable with the way she was looking at him

"It is," Gil admitted. "It's stirring up a lot of things, but if I could take care of the one problem, everything else... is manageable."

Catherine seemed thoughtful. After a moment she said. "So why me? Of all the people you could ask, or am I the last on the list?"

"First on the list, actually." Catherine was frowning a little, but the expression was flattering. "It's really just a one person list. It's because you're an intelligent person, so you'd get a hang of the system fast. And you're trustworthy, and Jim gets along well with you."

"And Jim asked you to ask me?" Catherine was asking questions like she would in an interrogation.

That was all right, though. Gil knew the best way to muddle through things was to be honest and just... try. Well, he was trying. "No. I'm doing this on my own and he doesn't know."

"Well at least he's not going to be looking at me funny," Catherine sighed. "Was there any particular reason you thought I might just be dying to have a child of any description?"

"In six months, you've dated four men that if you ran into them on a scene, you'd classify as 'scumbags'. Either you're desperate to create a semi-nuclear family, or... I'm not sure, because it can't be for companionship, and one night stands have to be easier than putting up with people like that."

"Ouch." Catherine looked at him again. "You don't pull punches, Gil. And maybe you don't know what I want..."

"Maybe I don't," Gil agreed. And maybe she didn't either. Maybe she wanted to join his short but apparently growing list of people he liked and knew who had self-destructive habits.

"And maybe I don't either," Catherine murmured. That was something he admired about Catherine. She was sometimes brutally honest, and just as much with herself than everyone else. "Give me the sales pitch, Gil, I owe Jim enough to at least listen."

"Thanks. If... you were to say yes, and go along with this, you'd gain Benefactor status. No matter what gender, the child is a member of the family line, heir to quite a bit of money and a trust fund that would more than put them through college. There's a monetary benefit for you, too. Uh, a girl would be part of the family line and if she went on to have any sons, they'd be Benefactors and have to choose a Companion and the whole thing. Same if there was a boy. The girl has no real familial obligations other than to enjoy her life. Uh..." He hadn't actually expected to get that far, and he didn't have much of a pitch. "I've spent a lot of time at the College teaching and handling kids, and Jim's already raised one daughter. If you went through with it and then decided you didn't want anything to do with him or her, we at least know what to do. If you went through with this and actually wanted to be a mother, we all have different nights off, pretty staggered. You'd only need to worry about uh, nighttime daycare a couple of times a week at the most. I'm pretty sure a kid can't die from having too much attention."

"Less likely than having not enough." Catherine was thinking, he could tell, and it was hard to not respond to that and prod more. "So I'd get Benefactor status even if I wasn't married? What happened to Janice?"

"Benefactor status is conferred along bloodlines, not marriage. Janice cheated on Jim, and Janice lost everything she was getting. I'm pretty sure that Jim's parents are going to sue for recompense for the trouble she caused. Also, the oldest surviving members of the family are the Benefactors who take care of the trust funds and everything else. So when Jim's parents die, then it's his responsibility until he dies." Just in case she hadn't known that. Janice probably hadn't liked that, either -- not having her hand right in the till.

"Wow, I bet she thought it would be hers, divorce or not," Catherine replied. "But technically I won't be part of the bloodline. Any children would be, but not me. Or is surrogacy more binding than marriage?"

"Carrying the child is more binding than marriage. It's what confers a greater status to Companions in normal situations that allows them the degree of freedom to stay and marry their Benefactor or to leave. Marriage is... important in normal society, but for our laws, surrogacy is more important."

"So I'm guessing that if male pregnancy actually existed you'd be a few months along already?" Catherine replied tapping her nails on the desk. She shook her head. "I still can't believe you asked me this."

"To be honest? I can't believe that I asked you, either, but I'm really running out of ideas. I know this isn't very professional of me to put you in this situation." She was right, too -- if such a thing were at all possible, he and Jim would have already gone down that route. The less people involved, the better.

"And what happens if I say no?" The tone of her voice made that outcome very likely.

"Hopefully you don't hold it against me that I asked in the first place and I... go see if Sara will hit me if I ask her." He tried to make it a joke, even if it did fall a little flat.

"You're braver than I thought, Gil," Catherine replied and exhaled a little. She sat back and looked up at him. "I'll think about it. Give me some time, okay? And don't ask Sara if you don't want to be picking your own teeth up."

"I'm less worried about the teeth and more worried about my continued ability to hear." He started to stand up. "Take all the time you want, Catherine. Just... get back to me with a yes or a no. I'd appreciate it."

Catherine nodded watching him go. "And Gil? Try to make the next problem you need help with something about Warrick and Nick stealing your socks okay?"

He finally managed a smile. There wasn't a chance in hell that anyone would grab socks out of his locker, not with them knowing how much he liked insects and wondering just what he kept in his locker, but he grinned and nodded. "Sure. I'll, uh. Come back in a few minutes when you've got the sheets for tonight."

"You do that," Catherine replied and as he left he could see her settle into one of her thinking poses.

It was better than he'd expected. She was at least thinking about it. To be honest, he had no idea why he'd even thought he had a chance with this, but here he was asking their boss to be a surrogate mother for his lover.

Benefactor. 

It was no wonder that his coworkers gave him strange looks from time to time, because looking at it from her point of view, he'd just thrown her a doozy and expected it not to be held against him.

And there was the small matter of breaking it to Jim what he had done. Or whether he did until he had any sort of an answer.

* * *

Jim was seriously getting to the point that removing all phones in the house would be preferable to the barrage of phone calls they got. He had reached the stage of connecting it permanently to the answering machine, but if he didn't speak to them every so often then things would get progressively worse and then his parents would be on his doorstep.

The problem was they believed totally that they were in the right. That it was for his own good, for the good of the Family and it was how they were brought up. They thought the relationship between him and Gil was wonderful, like an epic romance not because they were two males but because they were Companion and Benefactor finding true love together. The only problem was the lack of heir and in their search for a 'Happy Ever After', they were willing to be ruthless.

So, instead of staring at a drink, Jim was absently rattling around a bottle of freshly acquired ulcer pills. "So how many of these do I have to take again?"

"Two. With a glass of milk -- if you can find them, I'll get you the milk." Gil had dinner going and a book on the counter top, and it just wasn't going to be one of those days where eating was put off because of wild sex. He was tired, Gil could hardly keep his eyes open, but he hadn't wanted to bow in to take-out when sauce in a can just took a minute to reheat, vegetables came out of a frozen bag and into a microwave, and spaghetti didn't take long to boil. 

It had been a hell of a night. That suicide-murder killer from a couple of years back had come back. Nick joked that he guessed it was the rain that brought him out, and Gil had chimed in that worms were much more stately creatures than serial killers.

There was a lot of pressure to track down this guy and there were some bits of trace that were turning out to be staged and everyone had been tense and wound up over the whole thing. Jim put out two of the pills and looked at them. It would be nice not to have crippling pain in the center of his chest or in his gut. The first time it had happened he'd thought he was having some sort of heart attack. It was a minor relief to discover it was 'just' an ulcer and a combination of antibiotics and proton pump inhibitors would sort it out. As long as he didn't get too stressed. 

"Thanks. You doing your spaghetti?" Jim felt really tired, which was a shame. He worried he hadn't paid Gil enough attention. It always brought him back to Janice and the arguments that they'd have over him not paying her enough attention. Except he hadn't really felt guilty about her, where he would've if he'd owned a dog and it hadn't been getting walked enough. Gil was his responsibility, a good one, and every once in a while, he worried.

"Yeah. Alfredo sauce." Since tomatoes and his ulcer would make for a really crappy combination. Janice would have used tomatoes just to spite him. "Why don't you sit down and relax? It'll be done in another five minutes."

"I'll cook tomorrow," Jim promised half closing his eyes. Not that he was likely to get any better because the stress was getting more not less. Maybe his parents would back off when one of his ulcers ruptured or something.

The knock at their door surprised him. As Gil was cooking, he pushed himself up. "I'll get it, Gil."

He strode over and took a look out, and raised his eyebrows before opening the door. "Catherine. Didn't we leave you at the lab entrenched in politics?"

"The sheriff understands that we're doing the best that we can. Is this a bad time? Because you look like hell." And she didn't look too much better, but hey. She just looked like she was one step away from punching the next person who mentioned the FBI.

"Nah. You want some spaghetti Alfredo? Won't take much to stretch it... opening another can, that sort of thing," Jim replied stepping to the side to invite her in. "It's not a bad time, I'm just... not feeling 100%."

"Yeah, Gil mentioned that to me a few weeks ago. Sure, I'll stay for dinner." She walked in, and that at least gave him the chance to close the door. Gil was probably already adding spaghetti to the boiling water and more sauce to the pan. For a guy who'd been deaf for a few years, he had obnoxiously keen hearing.

Jim always experienced a faint glimmer of pride over that even though he grumbled and groused about how he should've kept the Porsche when Gil picked him up on something. "Yeah, well we've all had a pretty rough day so come in and unwind. Unless you're bringing us pink slips or something."

"As understaffed as we are?" She laughed, and followed after him into the kitchen. "Hey, Gil."

"Hi, Catherine. You don't mind lima beans, right?"

"I can live with them," she replied as Jim reached for the glass of milk Gil had left on the side and knocked back the pills in short order.

"Just consider yourself lucky you came on a Gil cooking night. Chicken stir fry tomorrow. With cashew nuts." Jim said turning back to face her.

"Hey, you're not riding the take-out express anymore. I'm proud of that. The guys at the China Wok knew you on a first name basis. They still ask about you." She was joking, and she winked as she wandered into the kitchen. "So, did Gil tell you about his proposition?"

He saw Gil go abruptly still and he looked at her. "Proposition?" he asked the air generally, while experiencing that strange bewildering feeling that the ground was about to disappear from around his feet.

"So, that's a no." Catherine pulled out a chair at the kitchen table, and leaned her elbows on the tabletop.

"That's a no," Gil admitted as he turned around, peering at Jim with an uncertain, sheepish expression on his face.

"I'm thinking someone needs to throw me a clue here?" Jim asked them both. "Gil? You made some sort of proposition to... Catherine?"

He couldn't think of a single thing he might have done. Maybe it was some sort of research thing. Or... swapping shifts? No, that would be really bad.

Jim was pretty sure he hadn't driven Gil to want to swap shifts. But Gil didn't answer for the longest damn time.

"I asked if she'd be willing to... have your baby."

Have his -- Jim felt his entire brain empty of anything like thought. He was a zen master through virtue of shock. He knew he must look like he'd been stunned by a brick to the back of the head and it felt like it too, because Gil had asked that? Of their boss?

"I hope those weren't heart pills he was just taking, Gil," Catherine said looking concerned.

"Drugs for his ulcer. Jim? I, uh... talked to her about it a month or so ago." Yeah, right after his last good drinking episode, then, when his parents had caught him on his day off. Gil turned his back to them, under the guise that he was getting plates down.

"Wow." Jim cleared his throat. "Well I'm pretty glad I didn't know about that. I think the ulcer would have exploded."

She must be coming in to say no. He just noticed that she looked... like she'd been upset over something. He frowned a little. "You okay, Cath? I mean, don't worry about letting us down easy or anything."

"If I was going to say no, I would've cornered Gil in my office and told him there." She managed a laugh, a sort of laugh, and shook her head a little. "No, I... It got me thinking. Eddie died, and I had another bad date, and... I'd like to meet this headmistress of your college that you talked so much about, Gil. She taught you how not to pull any punches. You were right."

"I'm sorry."

Jim sat down because it was easier than trying to stand up to the weight of that confusion. "I'm completely lost here. When did you two start talking in code?" he asked, looking between them both. "I'm really sorry about Eddie. I know we didn't exactly see eye to eye on him...."

Punching him that one time had put him on the shit list for some time, but he hadn't cared. He'd been cheating. But it was difficult to speak ill of the dead. "...But I'm really sorry you lost him."

Because he was sure Catherine had thought she loved him. She kept going back even when common sense dictated otherwise. Maybe she'd thought she always could.

"Yeah, well, the sex was great, but he never... I never could trust him. No matter how much I wanted to, whenever I did he slapped me in the face with some stupid Eddie trick." Catherine was watching them both, her eyes roaming a little. "Gil... really does speak his mind. He said he asked me because he thought I was dating the men I was dating for the wrong reasons. I thought about it, and... and I was. Eddie was never going to clean up his act, and it's cliché, but I can hear my biological clock tick tick ticking."

Jim couldn't even imagine thinking about having that sort of conversation. "I'm sorry, Cath. Love makes us do stupid things. Like... fighting being really happy for once." He glanced at Gil and back to her. "I'm really sorry about Eddie."

And somewhere belatedly in that he realized she hadn't actually said no. That was a little boggling unless she was planning to get around to it, or -- but hadn't she just said that if she was going to say no, she would've cornered Gil in her office and stopped it right there? Catherine wasn't into publicly humiliating people. 

"I am, too. I can't bring him back to life, and I can't make him... have been the person I wanted." She waved one hand a little, and she looked close to crying. "I want to do it."

She wanted to do it? Jim was nearly stunned again, but found himself moving forward towards her. "You want to?" Jim asked even as he moved to gently hold her. He knew what it felt like to lose people. To death, to shitty luck, to everything. "I don't want you doing anything unless you want to."

"I'm to the point that I'm dating men for all the wrong reasons, and I don't want to be the crazy lady who puts holes in condoms." She was laughing, but she seemed damn close to crying, and she leaned into Jim. In the background, Gil turned off the microwave. "I just need to think of how I can excuse it. Drunk one night stand with you or something..."

"You don't need to excuse it," Jim said gently. "You don't even have to go anywhere near me. It's... a legitimate reason in its own right, isn't it?" Janice had married him, faked love to get his status. Surrogacy *was* a more truthful way of doing it.

Catherine shook her head. "No, no, it's not. I just... want a child. To a man who isn't going to be a deadbeat and just disappear." Like her father had, from what Jim knew. "And you need an heir. And both of our asses will be in front of Covallo if we do it for those reasons."

Jim shook his head. "Cath, you know you're the one doing us a favor if you do this. I can play any role you want if it helps." 

He meant it. If Catherine really wanted this he couldn't think of anyone better to be the mother of his child. She wouldn't put up with his shit for one, and she wasn't likely to just cut him off all together. "Good. Great. I have no idea how we're going to do this, but it solves a lot of things." 

Gil pulled out his chair, and sat down across from them. He settled a hand on Catherine's where she was clutching Jim's arm. "However you want to."

"And if you change your mind, Cath, that's fine." Jim said softly. "And hey, we're not going to go anywhere, or leave you in the lurch. If this is what you want then I'm more than happy."

"This is what I want." She sat back a little, and made a sound that was suspiciously like a sniff. "We'll just... have to pass it off as an accident."

"So you want to... actually try it as... an accident or try IVF and then... fake an accident?" Jim asked. The problem with IVF was that it was traceable, they might find out. But he hadn't particularly wanted to do it for real because of Gil.

Catherine seemed to be thinking the same thing, because she peered over at Gil and Gil lifted his eyebrows at both of them. "What?"

“The whole pregnancy thing. Um, the method of getting there?" Jim was aware that he was blushing. "This not a conversation I thought I'd ever be having."

"I think the... old fashioned way might be the most... untraceable. Particularly with some of the cases we've had going on." Gil rubbed at Catherine's hand a little, but once she sat back, he stopped. "It doesn't bother me. I'm pretty sure Catherine doesn't want to take you home and keep you."

"Sorry Jim. I like you but... You know, there's no reason Gil can't be there," Catherine replied.

There Jim’s thoughts went again. Zen Mastery in two sentences.

"That sounds very workable," Gil agreed. "Look, we're all tired and hungry, and Dinner's done. Maybe we can finish this over food?"

Finish it, start it, do something with it. Jim wasn't entirely sure where they were going with any of this. Only that he was faintly aware that his life had been turned around in the course of a very short conversation. "Sure. Sure, let's eat and maybe we can think on this some more."

Because god knew he needed to think about it. Catherine was nodding while Gil stood up to get make their plates. "God, I need to sit down and work out when I'm fertile. I haven't done that in years except to make sure I wasn't," she laughed a little.

"This has to be the most surreal conversation I've ever had," Jim said aloud. "I can't believe you really want to do this. With me."

"Yeah, well. You're a good guy, Jim. If things were different..." If she wasn't who she was and he wasn't the way he was, she meant. Yeah, maybe there was half a hope in hell, but he was content, happy with Gil, who was finally grinning a little when he turned around with two plates in hand, setting them down in front of Catherine and Jim before he grabbed his own.

"Oh, forks -- hold on.”

"And I can't believe Gil just came out and asked you," Jim said as well. "There is no way I would've done that without arranging to have half a state between us."

"I figured that there was nothing for me to lose?" Gil half-said, half-asked as he pulled utensils out of the drawer, and turned back to the table.

Catherine laughed a little again. "I think he has to have huge balls. I can't think of anyone who'd do that -- I thought he was joking at first."

"I feel it should go on the record that his balls are moderately sized at best," Jim pointed out with mock seriousness. There was a bit of him that was just bubbling over with the gradual unwinding of a whole lot of tension.

"But they're brass balls. That has to explain something," Gil deadpanned as he sat down, offering them forks. He'd forgotten to get drinks, too, but that was the only proof that what had just happened had made Gil's brains scatter as badly as Jim's.

Jim didn't ask him, he just got up and got some out of the fridge. "We're all smart here... most of the time. I'm sure we can out think Covallo and Ecklie. If not maybe we don't deserve to procreate."

"I think the once in a lifetime drunken accident excuse has merit," Catherine murmured as she picked up the fork, eyeing the spaghetti. She'd realized she'd like it once she got going. Sometimes home-cooked food was pretty crappy, but that wasn't going to be the case even when Gil was so tired he was yawning at the table. "It'll probably be a week or so."

"You really think we can get it to take the first time around?" Jim asked even as he took a mouthful. Gil knew how to cook and he'd been teaching Jim even if they got distracted. It was a good distraction, a hands on distraction, and they'd only set off the fire alarm once.

Or twice.

”Maybe not the first time around, but the second or third, sure.” If Jim wasn't shooting blanks, and that was… What would his parents do if there was something wrong with his sperm? A court-order wrung out of him cup of it wouldn't do anyone any good if that was the problem.

He was pretty sure he hadn't though. He had a suspicion that Janice had been genuinely surprised to get pregnant at all which meant that she was probably taking contraception and was being careful. Only maybe not careful enough. So.

"I'm pretty good at knowing when I'm fertile," Catherine replied. "And believe me, it's all still working up there."

What was he supposed to say? 'Oh, good'? Gil was smiling, slyly, head ducked down for a moment. "You're right, Jim. This is very surreal."

"And strangely logical," Catherine agreed, waving her fork a little. "With bad timing with the case that's going on, but..."

"Hey, we catch the guy and then we'd have an excuse for a drunken celebration," Jim pointed out. "Better forensics through sex."

"It might take two or three weeks to catch him anyway," Gil deadpanned, picking up the soda Jim had grabbed him. "Warrick and I had no luck today. A lot of evidence that tells a story but has no case-meaning."

"We're looking at this in the wrong way. The guy is playing us out here," Catherine said sounding more stable on the issue of work. "We're not going to find things in the evidence, only what he wants us to see. I hate to say it, but this is one of those times when we can't trust the evidence."

Jim considered a moment, eating a mouthful. "Maybe that's the point. Maybe that's the message."

"When the fingerprints are leaving Pam cooking spray behind, I think that's a pretty clear message." Gil set his cup down, and sat back a little. "I wish we could find a context."

"That's what we should focus on. Finding context. We go back to the original case. Gil, you can look them over with fresh eyes and we'll track down any lead that might lead us to a context," Catherine said. "Hey, this isn't too bad, Gil."

"Thanks." Gil ate some of his lima beans, looking thoughtful. The topic change was a good one, and it kept Jim from feeling awkward while the three of them sat there. Gil, apparently, could comfortably ignore the elephant in the room, probably because he was usually the elephant in the room himself. "I'll take a look over them. The fake hand guy... He has an alibi?"

"Him personally? I don't think anyone checked him personally after he said about the hand," Jim chipped in. "We should, now that we're scrabbling around for leads."

"I can do it," Gil offered. "Or... maybe he has a list of places he's sold them to? It's a start. We need somewhere to start."

"You and Jim head straight there instead of coming in first when you are on shift," Catherine replied. "He's a strange guy, Paul Millander. But making me uncomfortable is not a means of determining guilt or complicity."

It would've made life a lot easier on all of them if it was. "Okay." Gil grinned a little, and drank another sip of soda. "Ecklie makes you uncomfortable, so..."

"With reason," Catherine replied. "He keeps trying to poach you and step up over the other supervisors. I have the best team." She smirked a little at that.

"Well, you have Gil. He's practically a team all told," Jim murmured glancing at the younger man.

A faint color rose in Gil's cheeks, but he kept eating.. "Jim..."

"You're embarrassing him," Catherine grinned. "One of us can say that and he turns red, but if a complete stranger said it, he'd take it all in stride."

Jim nodded. "True. Hey, Gil you're my Companion, I get to bask in your reflected glory as if it were my own, don't I?"

He felt a little more relaxed and his stomach wasn't on fire any more and his brain had not caught up with events.

"Yep," Gil agreed. "Unless I'm proving you wrong on the field. Then I think they negate each other."

"No," Jim said. "Because if either of us are right, it means I am. Even when I'm wrong."

Catherine was looking at him. "Have you been drinking or something Jim?"

He paused a moment, feeling a hint of shame. "For once, Cath, no."

Gil's leg bumped his under the table, and stayed there, leaning against his. "The jokes get worse when he's sober. That's all."

"Even though we're going to fake being drunk, I think I'd prefer not to be when we do this," Catherine replied even as she finished another mouthful. Jim was still struggling with the idea of him and Catherine. Him, Catherine and Gil was likely to hurt something in his head.

"I don't think it's something you have to worry about." Gil sounded confident and warm when he said that.

"I should hope not," Catherine replied, looking at them both in a different way.

Jim decided it might be an idea to have a few more dinners together first before they went any further. Get comfortable around each other and that was something they could keep under wraps or disguise by inviting some of the others. Just establish a growing familiarity so the leaping into bed when drunk would not be a big stretch for any of them. In the mean time, they could talk over the cases, bounce ideas around and do what they usually did. Talk work... and with any luck they could get things moving that way.

"So, did we get anything off of that print in the tub or not?"

"Two guesses who it is, first one doesn't count..."

* * *

It was hard to believe that he'd been out of the CCCC for almost a year. Time had moved in jumps and spurts for him, and it wasn't a quiet life but it was a happy life. The work in Vegas was good, the coworkers were honestly better than they'd been in LA, and he was always learning, studying, trying new techniques. 

And Jim. Jim was amazing. Even when he snored in his sleep and they were both too tired to have sex. That was all right. Sometimes even they had to sleep.

He'd half expected Jim's infatuation with him to fade off a little over time, but that was far from the case. Jim seemed more taken with him -- by him, on occasion -- than ever before. He'd had a niggling worry that when they furtively consummated the deal with Catherine that Jim would have been overwhelmed by her feminine presence and draw away from him. In fact when it came to it, things had been very different.

In fact, the thing with Catherine, three meetings all total and if it didn't work this time, then again the next time, had been pretty damn embarrassing. Gil grinned to himself, and pulled his pillow over his head. Days off were for lazing, and he was going to laze for a while before he got up and thought about doing anything. He just wasn't made for dealing with women in a comfortable way.

Jim had looked pretty uncomfortable and it amused Gil to remember that Catherine had, with a sigh, ordered them to start off and then basically moved in at the appropriate moment. A lot of embarrassed laughter had occurred after the event and each time Catherine had gone, leaving them both in bed together. Where Jim would very gently, and carefully show Gil the difference between sex, and making love.

There was a difference, and Gil did appreciate the difference between the two. There was a difference in a time and the attention and the feeling. Catherine had laughed quite a bit, and it wasn't too bad. She was a beautiful woman and it hadn't been hard. 

Just interesting.

Still, he'd prefer it if they didn't have to do it again if only because he wasn't naturally tuned into being an exhibitionist even if Catherine did say that watching them together was unexpectedly hot.

Jim had said that was probably the start of the menopause so she ought to hurry... which had led to some good-natured scuffling. Even so, they would be trying again soon. Each time they had to mask it enough and provide enough leads that it wouldn't be a surprise if something should happen. Gil knew there had been a hint of gossip about Catherine and himself, but only a hint.

It was kind of funny since it wouldn't have been less true. He'd hardly touched her, just enough to stay a participant in it, which seemed important to Jim. Jim with his worries that Gil would think he was cheating on him. It took a certain type of crazy to do what they were doing, but Gil had to admit that he was that kind of crazy.

He stretched a little. There was a particular lazy feeling that came with knowing that he was still in bed while others were working. Jim would be on his way to work, so would everyone else and he was lying in bed.

The phone started ringing.

Gil wanted to ignore it, but they didn't have telemarketers calling that late at night. It was probably someone asking if he could come in to work for them, and that was a shame if he had to get out of bed. As it was, Gil reached to fish for the phone received, grabbing it before he pulled it into the bed with him. "Hello?"

"Hi, Gil, it's Catherine," came his boss's voice. She was obviously driving in. "Just thought I'd give you a call and invite myself over for dinner, breakfast or whatever later on."

"Okay." He sat up a little, rubbing at his eyes. "I'll go through the fridge later and see what's acceptably edible. Jim's already heading in to work, so..."

"Yeah? I'm going to be a few minutes late," Catherine said giving a lengthy pause. "I've been to the doctor's."

That made Gil pause, shifting to hold more carefully onto the phone. "And what did the doctor say?"

"He said I'm very fit which is just as well because I'm a bit old to be a primagravida," she said. "Which... at long last, I am."

Gil could feel his mouth registering what she'd just said before his brain did, because he was smiling. "You -- so that means -- god, Catherine, if you tell Jim at work he'll pass out!"

"Exactly. So that's why I'm inviting myself to dinner," Catherine said and he could hear the smile in her voice. "I'm finally pregnant. Not even a hint of morning sickness and I have to be at least a month in."

"That's really good. God." Gil sat back, still holding onto the phone. "I almost can't believe it. You're going to have to be careful at work now, but..." But she was a supervisor so she could be, and god. God, Jim was finally going to have an heir.

"Not to worry. It's not like I won't have time to groom up someone to be a stand in for the maternity leave," Catherine said. "I'd just thought I'd let you know -- dealing with Jim is going to be hard so I thought having you used to the idea would help."

"He's not going to be hard to deal with," Gil promised. "He'll just faint." Nick would probably be the deputy supervisor, and he'd be good at it, Gil knew. Or Warrick. He’d be great, too. He closed his eyes, still holding onto the phone. "Wow. This is amazing, Catherine. Congratulations."

"Congratulations to you and your Benefactor, too," Catherine said. "No alcohol tonight though, that's for sure. I'll see you later, Gil."

"I'll see you when you get off work," he agreed. "Catherine? Have a good day." God, it felt so good to have that solved, to know that everything was working out right.

Of course there was all the problems yet to come. Being parents of a sort, depending on Catherine's wishes, all of that. But Jim was good with kids, and Gil knew he did okay when he was teaching so he was sure everything would turn out well. He half considered writing to Lady Heather just to tell her things were going well. Now more than ever he felt sorry for her losing her Benefactor, even if she'd had his child.

Companions were a one-cart horse, so to speak, and if he'd lost Jim, Gil couldn't think of what he'd be doing. What he'd do. They weren't trained to live alone, and maybe he should write her, just to express his gratitude for her years of work on him.

It would be worth doing. He was just considering getting up when the phone rang again which was really odd. Perhaps it was Jim calling in to make sure he was awake.

He picked it up again, and his hello this time was a little more uncertain. "Hello?"

"Uh, hi? Can I speak to Jim please? Jim Brass?" The female voice was one that he couldn't place but fortunately she provided some identification. "This is Annie from LA?"

"Oh, Annie. Jim's just gone into work. This is Gil speaking." Gil finally sat up, and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. It seemed like he was going to keep being called by people, so he might as well get up.

"Hi, Gil," Annie replied sounding a little uncertain. "Uh, do you think you could get Jim to give me a call? I've got some news for him.

He frowned a little, and rubbed at his eyes in an effort to wake up. "Sure. Is there any message you want me to pass on?"

"Only that he was right and now I've proved it I might be looking to see if Vegas has any vacancies," There was a hint of a laugh at that, if a nervous one. "Look, I better go. I'll speak to you soon, Gil."

That sounded a little strange, but Gil caught himself nodding to the phone. "Uh, sure. I'll pass that on, and he'll call you back."

"Bye, Gil," she said and hung up. Strange. Really strange. Did he really want to think about what she had been talking about? Was she referring to news about ...Todd?

Even after all this time the name made him uncomfortable.

He suspected he'd always be uncomfortable at the mention of it. It wasn't as if having a loving home and a great job just... fixed everything, and Gil still had his funny off moments. But he could at least keep it to the inside of his head instead of letting it tangle with his real life.

Gil hung up the phone and wondered what he was going to do with himself that day. He could go all out and prepare an impressive meal for Jim and Catherine. It might just tip Jim off that there was momentous news, especially if he bought a crash mat and put it behind him. Jim might get the hint before anything was said.

That was the best he could do without spoiling Catherine's reveal. Gil stretched, and finally wandered out of the bedroom. He could do steaks, or a roast or something. He'd need to put it out to thaw, and then he could shower and catch up on some reading.

It was going to be really difficult to concentrate on anything until Jim got home. It was possible that he could phone Jim and tell him about Annie though. Maybe he could call her on the way to a scene or something.

He backtracked to grab the portable phone, and started to dial Jim's cell phone number as he wandered downstairs. Roast sounded good. Catherine liked red meat and vegetables.

"Brass," Jim answered and it sounded like he was driving somewhere already. Nothing surprising there, then.

"Hey. Annie called a couple of minutes ago. I think she wants you to call her back. She said that you were right about something, and that she might have to be looking for a job in Vegas?"

There was a moment of silence. "Sounds like I better call her now," Jim said in what Gil was starting to recognize as his 'oh god, this is my fault' tone of voice. "Nick's driving anyway and the rate he drives, we won't get to the scene for another thirty minutes."

He could hear Nick's, "Hey!" and denial in the background.

"Probably twenty. You wouldn't have any idea what's going on, do you?" Gil asked a little hopefully as he peered in the freezer.

"Yeah. You know when I picked you up and we went to see her and we were talking?" Jim said heavily. "And you went out for a bit?"

"So it's about Todd," Gil guessed a little mutedly. No matter what the news was, it wasn't good. And it was about him, and he wasn't going to think about it. "Okay. Hey, I'm going to put a roast on for dinner, so try not to work a double."

"Okay. I won't. I'll tell you about it when I get home okay? Nick and I have a hit and run or a body dump up in the middle of nowhere. Should be straightforward." Jim paused a little and then said, "Love you Gil."

That was surprising considering Nick was there in front of him. Gil tilted his head a little, cradling the phone between his shoulder and his cheek. "I love you, too. Good luck tonight." And he hung up because if he didn't then Nick was probably going to hear more than he ever wanted to hear.

He and Jim had a bet on how long it was going to take Greg and Nick to actually do something instead of flirting. It was becoming complicated because Greg had also started flirting with Sara and Nick really didn't like that much. He also flirted on occasion with Gil, which amused Jim no end as he spun ridiculous stories about what would happen if Greg ever got his hands on Gil. Fainting was a popular theory, particularly when the pants were dropped. Hypothetically, of course.

It wouldn't ever happen, though, and that always made Gil laugh. He was very content, more than Jim could probably guess. They had a pretty even workload in the house, with Jim doing laundry every other week, and them rotating who made dinner dependent on who had the day off or who had the worst day.

If both of them had a really bad day then they would cave and order take out, but even with Jim's ulcer getting better, he still had to be careful, and Gil had to admit he looked better for his new diet. All he wanted was for that weight and burden of expectation and duty to be pushed off of his shoulders somehow. God, the more little bits and pieces he discovered, the more he wanted to take his parents to one side and tell them exactly what they were doing to Jim.

The information came out like blood drops from a beneath a picked scab, slow but inevitable. He knew now that yes, Jim had definitely been tortured. That he'd seen a lot of friends die like that, but had survived. That he'd almost been blamed for surviving when he got back because they assumed he had sold them out. That was part of his insistence on doing absolutely the right thing no matter the cost. The implication he tried to save himself bit deep.

He hadn't. He'd just gotten lucky, and even now it wasn't a very lucky kind of lucky. Gil wasn't going to let Jim keep taking pieces out of himself for what had happened, and if he was honest with himself, Jim's turnaround in recent months was the only reason why he hadn't started to suggest that Jim seek professional help. Because with someone watching him and making sure he couldn't self-destruct, making sure that he was offered things that made him happy even when he was determined to be pissed off... it all helped.

That was good because it was the best that Gil could do. But this would get Jim's parents off of his back, and that would go a long way to taking unnecessary stress off of Jim.

If Jim hadn't cared about what they thought, nothing they did would touch him. He'd seen Jim not give a damn to other people but what his parents thought was something he did value and they were rather selfishly torturing him all over again. But this would stop that and maybe Jim would get enough of a foundation to work on the rest of his life. Deal with some of those issues to do with choice, and Ellie, and betrayal and everything else.

All he wanted was for Jim to be happy. He was hoping that this meal tonight would be the first step in the right direction.

That, and the crash mat.

* * *

Gil had certainly gone all out for the roast, Jim realized when he got in. He'd exchanged a nice comfortable kiss as Gil darted around the pans and then had been banished to have a quick shower because apparently Gil had decided to invite Catherine over as he was cooking a roast. Still, he wanted to tell Gil the news before they were interrupted, because he had spoken to Annie and Todd was locked up, ready to go down and Annie had taken a few people out in the process of getting him.

But she had got him.

So right now, clean and with jeans and t-shirt on, he sneaked in behind Gil again and wrapped his arms around him mid stir of a saucepan. "Hey."

"Hey. You smell good." Gil tipped his head back slightly, leaning into Jim. "So, was it a hit and run or a body dump?"

"Hit and run," Jim replied. "Knee fractures, skid marks... whole thing. The crazy thing is how with a whole desert road to choose from someone managed to find a person to hit."

"So you and Nick are trying to figure out how they got there, right?" Gil guessed. He always asked about the cases he wasn't a part of -- not to try to insert himself in them, but kind of as a check on what everyone else did. He was already trying to learn more, and there was almost always a forensics journal on the coffee table if he'd had a day off.

"Yeah, more of a why rather than a how," Jim said. "Listen, I've got something to tell you. Kinda good news in one way."

"I like good news," Gil told him nonchalantly. He didn't turn around, and Jim could guess why. Gil had confided a few times that he liked it when Jim 'snuck up' and did that.

"Annie got Todd. Got him nailed down tight and looking at life. She also broke up a child porn ring in the process and took out some heavy weights up in LA."

Gil went a little stiff in Jim's arms, and then he leaned forwards to turn off the element. He left the spoon in the pot, and it was only then that he leaned back against Jim. "Jesus."

"Yeah." Jim cleared his throat. "I knew the type, after you told me. Someone who would do that to you and got away with it wouldn't stop just because he didn't have a legal gray area to exploit. I went to Annie because I knew even if there was an answer she didn't like, she'd follow through. Like I did. She and I were pretty alike. Alike enough to be friends, too alike to ever make anything more."

"She took him down," Gil murmured, like he didn't believe it. "What about Sasha?" 

"Sasha, it turns out, did get pregnant and they married just after the birth so she has the Benefactor status. His Family rejected him and taken her on as the continuation of the Family bloodline. Apparently she's called her little boy Alexander Gilbert...." Jim smiled a little. "She seems to think you had something to do with this.”

Gil finally turned his head, and placed a kiss on the side of Jim's face before he turned all the way around. "God. You have no idea how good that is to hear. I spent all day thinking that he'd gotten away."

"I'm sorry, I should've phoned you back earlier." He should've known Gil would do that. It was stupid of him to wait. "Annie doesn't give up either. I think she'll make it there and I think this will lead to a promotion because someone high up went down with Todd, but... I said I'd look for jobs here."

"She'll feel better if she has something to fall back on, even if she doesn't need it." Gil slid his arms around Jim. "God. This is going to be a celebration dinner, then."

"I hope so," Jim murmured and leaned forward to kiss him. It was so easy to do and he'd never once felt self-conscious about it since the Presentation. He loved Gil so much sometimes it hurt. "Shame you asked Catherine over otherwise we could get to the celebrating."

Gil's mouth twitched up. "Nah, I think it's a good idea I asked her over. We can get to the celebrating soon enough."

"I'll set the table then. What time is she due over?" Jim asked unable to resist another nuzzle into Gil's neck.

"Another ten or fifteen minutes. She was coming here straight after you so..." Gil wasn't letting go of him yet, so that was a good sign.

He could settle for kissing and he was genuinely happy that Todd was brought to justice. He didn't like the fact they hadn't been able to get him for Gil's sake, but now there were a lot of kids who were safer due to him knowing and Annie's dedication. He just wished he could take away the memories. He could try kissing them away.

Jim just wasn't sure it would actually accomplish anything other than delaying the setting of the table. And getting Gil to slid a hand down to his belt, hesitating. “Dammit, no, hold on, or we won't be waiting.”

"Catherine's seen worse..." Jim murmured. "You're just hard to resist when you wear an apron."

Not that he actually was but it was something to distract him, to get a laugh out of Gil. "You're the one who owns an apron. Just for that, you can go set the table."

"Yes sir," Jim replied and smirked while he did his task. Just as he was putting the glasses out, there was a knock at the door and he went to open it as Gil seemed to be timing dinner to perfection. "Hey, Cath, come on in."

It was nice having her around as a guest. Sometimes they got some departmental gossip out of her after a while, and Catherine seemed to thrive on the close contact. Not that being on good terms with the boss changed a damn thing at work. She was still as likely as ever to rip him a new one, but Jim didn't mind. If he had it coming, then he had it coming and it was always better to know if he'd fucked up or not. "Hey, Jim. I see you got home on time."

"I see you got away late," Jim answered. "And got yourself an invite to dinner. I notice you only do that on Gil's cooking nights."

"It's purely coincidence," she smiled brightly at him. "Happy coincidence, but coincidence. So..." She was eyeing him. Why was she eyeing him like that?

"What? Gil left lipstick on my collar or something?" Not that Gil had lipstick but that was something to contemplate for another day off. He found himself looking at her in a puzzled way, stare for stare.

"Just a little." She winked at him, and then brushed past him in the hallway. "I have some news for you."

He shut the door, very nearly checking to make sure he didn't have it on. "News, huh? Must be a day for it. What news is that?"

"I'm pregnant."

Just like that, with him standing halfway to the kitchen. No windup or softening blow, just...

Just years worth of frustration, of failure and anxiety starting to unravel all at once in his head. Fuck, his knees were going shaky. "You're... pregnant?"

"Slightly over a month along. When my period didn't come, I was suspicious, so I took a test at home and then went to the doctor's. We did it, Jim." She looked so damn pleased, and his knees really were probably going to give out and shit, he was going to be a dad again.

He reached out for a nearby chair to steady himself and found that Gil was there. "Jesus. You're... we're... really going to..."

He was going to be a father, he was going to stop arguing with his parents which hurt him over and over because he needed them. Needed their approval and acceptance because he'd lost everything to that damn Duty.

Gil had a hand on his shoulder. Well, almost everything, but almost was close enough, and he wasn't sure how he was still standing up. "Yeah. She called to tell me the good news after you went to work."

"You guys set me up?" Jim looked at the pair of them. From the look in Catherine's eyes that was a definite yes. "So it was the last poker night? That time?"

"Probably. That's what I told the doctor was probably the conception date." Catherine was smiling to herself while Gil pulled at Jim's shoulder, tugged him to sit down.

"Here, so you don't fall over. You're going to be a father."

"You could've warned me." A father. To not have to let go, to not... be pushed away. He knew he was grinning. "We're having a baby. All of us."

"I'm carrying him or her, but... trust me, you two are going to be doing your share of work, too." Catherine was grinning, and Gil slid into the chair beside Jim, sliding an arm over his shoulder.

"I guess we can say goodbye to sex on the sofa."

"Well no one told me that..." Jim replied still smiling. "Is it too late to reconsider?" As if he really would. This was the last piece slotting into place. This was where things stopped being a failure and moved into being a success. This was where he could start saving for rings and planning a discrete wedding. He wouldn't reconsider, too much of his life rested on it.

"Oh yeah." Catherine reached forwards to push his arm gently. Gil leaned into him to kiss the side of his face.

"I'll be back in a second. Dinner's done. Try not to fall out of your chair."

"Do we get to argue about names? Work out how we're going to break it to the world? You going to wait until three months before saying anything?" Janice had wanted to because after then the risk of miscarriage was less.

Catherine nodded her head. "I'm a supervisor. I can be careful on scenes for at least that long. In a couple of months I'll talk with Covallo and take care of it. We can argue about names all we want, but I'll probably win unless you have some name you're sentimentally attached to?" She was teasing, still smiling as she leaned her elbows on the table.

"Not that I'm aware of... Gil? You have any preferences?" Jim called out finding himself staring at her as if trying to see signs of pregnancy.

It was hard to tell, and probably way too soon. The only sign was that Catherine was smiling a lot, and Jim was glad that she wasn't regretting doing it. For herself and for them. "Not really. Names are... I don't actually know anyone I could honor by suggesting something."

"Then it looks like mother gets the choice with us vetoing." Jim looked at them both. "How long should I wait before telling my parents, do you think?"

"Don't." That was almost a chorus of both Catherine and Gil at the same time. Gil's was a half a second behind Catherine, but that was possibly because he was closing the door of the fridge, and coming over to the table with drinks.

"Don't wait or don't tell them?" Jim asked a little startled by the reaction.

"Wait," Gil said first. "Don't wait. If something, and I don't want to think about that, happened, it's different than if work was told and then something happened." Different stresses, and Catherine was nodding while Gil said it.

"The way they've been, I'm half tempted to make them wait until our youngest CSI has actually been born," Jim replied with just a hint of bitterness in his voice. He'd never be able to explain how much they hurt him. Never.

Gil put his dinner down in front of him, and then sat down beside him, scooting his chair close, while Catherine talked. "I know, but if you do that, they'll keep nagging you about it. And Gil said they could compel you through the courts..."

"I can hold them off for a couple of months more," Jim said with steely determination. "I'll throw the ulcer thing at them. That should be good for a couple of peaceful months due to the wonders of emotional blackmail."

"Tit-for-tat," Gil shrugged, picking up his fork. "Reminds me to thank Nick for the book. It's a theory of political interaction, but I think it works well with your parents. The key to winning is not to be the first to defect in the interaction, but to give back every time what the other player gave the time before. So... guilt for guilt."

"What's that? Game theory?" Jim asked even as he started eating. He had an appetite now. Two bits of good news in one day. That was something of a miracle.

"Nick figured it was the best way for Gil to get a hang of office politics after he pissed off Covallo last week," Catherine said with a lift of her eyebrows. "Not that you were wrong, Gil... you just need to find smoother ways to be right."

"I'm not sure how applicable the theory is, but it's a good book."

"He doesn't do smoother ways," Jim said finding the food good. "He speaks his mind. And unfortunately his mind was telling him what Covallo was doing was stupid."

“Trust me, I know.” Catherine grinned as she picked up her glass of juice, and then made a face. “Oh, god. What is this? Cranberry?”

”Nick said it was good for you.” Gil mimicked the face a little, and lifted his own glass. “Uh, maybe I should've taken the suggestion with a grain of salt from the man who eats granola?”

"Granola shouldn't be inflicted upon anyone," Jim said gravely. "There are some things too horrible to contemplate. Those Texas men are completely mad."

Gil grinned, and tilted his head. “I'm being mocked. We'll see what you say when I sneak ants into your scrambled eggs.”

"I thought you did that last week and told me they were bits of pepper?" Jim grinned. "Anyway, I get to be the irresponsible guy here so I can do what you want."

"You're the least irresponsible guy I know, then," Catherine decided as she took another testing sip of the juice, and shook her head before stabbing a green bean. "You really did that, Gil?"

"You really figured out it wasn't pepper?" Gil asked, staring at Jim.

"CSI level three. Bug expert since he was four or five. Yes and yes," Jim replied to them all. "They weren't too bad. And you went around smirking to yourself all day. You look good when you smirk."

Gil laughed, and sat back. Beneath the table, he leaned his knee against Jim's. It felt like everything had shifted slightly, slightly for the better, but some things, good things, stayed the same. "Caught. At least you didn't tell me.

"You were having fun, it seemed like the best thing to do," Jim murmured. "But the chocolate covered crickets are still not something I'm trying." 

"They're actually good," Catherine told him with a smirk of her own. "Really. As long as you don't see what you're doing. They taste like almonds. Covered in chocolate. Except they're almonds with legs."

"One day, I'll get you to try those, too. I think I've cajoled most of the lab..."

"This is not something to be eating when you're pregnant," Jim said smiling still. "No matter how full of vitamins they are."

”He meant you, Jim, not me.” Oh. Oh, right. “I'm not trying them again. They were good, but I only promised I'd try.”

”Which is fair enough,” Gil agreed, sitting back again. He was restless, and seemed excited, and hell, why not? They were going to have a kid. He was going to be a father and Catherine was going to be a mother and Gil was going to be an uncle or something.

Jim just hoped that his luck, which seemed to bring him the extremes of good and bad, was going to come down on the good side again. He figured after the decade of misery he'd had, he was owed Gil, and now a child of his own. Something had to come out of doing the right thing all the time, otherwise how would he ever carry on doing the right thing?

Not that it would change what he did or didn't do, but it would just be nice if... things kept working out. Jim had high hopes for his future. Their future.

* * *

Jim considered that if he took all things into consideration, the high price of selling his soul along with Catherine's and Gil's to get the time off so all three of them could be with Jim's parents for July 4th and take Lindsay to finally see them was probably worth it.

It wasn't like they hadn't managed to keep them away from the moment he had announced that yes he had got an Heir brewing, thank you very much. His mother had shrieked in a very un-Companion state of excitement and the emotional thumbscrews and rack had been taken off. It was amazing what a difference that made.

Still, all three of them were now high level CSI's and so it was that Lindsay was four before they managed to have enough weight to throw around between them to get the time off and visit Jersey so Jim's parents could show them all off to their friends who had been existing on a news-starvation diet of photographs and word of mouth.

Lindsay was soaking up the attention of all of those strange old people, so it was worth the fact that Jim was on shift for about two straight weeks when he got back, and Gil was going to be working through weekends for a month. Watching Gil sitting cross-legged on his parent's back lawn, pumping air into a kiddy pool so that their daughter could splash around in the heat was worth the price.

It was all pretty damn well worth it, even if his mother had just about squeezed the life out of Lindsay when she'd said hello.

Lindsay, of course, following in her mother's footsteps had very politely hit her until she let go. She didn't bother with the screaming and yelling. Gil liked to joke she got that from him, for all the lack of genetic input. Still, they'd sat through the endless visitors and today was family day which was nice because his mom and dad were absolutely smitten by Lindsay. She had Cath's looks, for which he thanked God, and she knew instinctively how to charm anyone and was a bright kid. Maybe not Gil bright, but Catherine was no slouch and neither was he.

He, on the other hand was performing the traditional duty of setting fire to things. The barbecue was radiating enough heat to create a perfect heat haze mirage effect over the top of it.

Jim wasn't sure what was the best part, except it might've been that his father was standing beside him, smiling and putting chicken wings on the grill. His dad has been right up there with his mother the whole time in high strung delight, but now he seemed mellower, the way Jim was used to seeing him.

"I'm proud of you."

Jim grinned. "I know, making a good barbecue is an art, huh?" he said lightly glancing at him.

"Which you didn't know the last time we talked," Richard agreed. "No, I mean... what you've done with your life, Jim. I'm proud of you."

"Yeah?" Jim felt he had to ask. "There was a time I wasn't too sure about that. Then I guess I wasn't too sure about anything much really."

"After Janice... She tried to ruin you, Jim. We saw it, we just didn't know what to do." His father sighed, and poked at one steak a little before he glanced wryly at Jim. "But look at you now."

"I always tried to do the right thing, Dad. I don't think you and Mom realized how much you hurt me when you had Ellie tested." He was saying the words calmly but the fact still remained that somewhere not even fifteen minutes away, was his other daughter. Ellie. And he knew that if she ever came to him for help he'd treat her just the same as he would Lindsay. He couldn't forget her, even though he was meant to. 

He just hoped that she hadn't forgotten him.

"We were trying to look out for your best interests," his father shrugged. "Retrospectively, we... weren't acting as rationally as we should have. And I'm sorry for that, son. We should have listened to your Companion."

"Gil is always right," Jim agreed with mock-solemnity. "It's fast becoming a department motto." He looked over at the younger man, unable to stop smiling. Five years in, and he loved him so much there were times he would just hold on to him, unable to speak, scared that he might leave him. Rather than the whole deal with Companion and Benefactor, he found himself more amazed by the thought of 'why would someone like Gil want me'? Gil was smart, a rapidly rising star in CSI and gorgeous.

"I was making things difficult, I know that, Dad. There were reasons."

"I know. Gil kept telling us that, but..." He shrugged again, probably at a loss for words. "And we should have listened. But I'm glad he looked out for you, and Lindsay... is adorable." Richard winked then. "And so's her mother." Who was wandering over with Lindsay towards the pool that Gil was still inflating. Lindsay had decided that morning that she was a big girl and she was going to walk everywhere she wanted but she was still going to hold her mother's hand.

If she kept that up for very long, Catherine was going to need a back brace.

"Cath is something else. Between her and Gil, everything gets organized," Jim replied watching the chicken sizzle before turning it. "We're lucky things worked out like this."

"You needed something to work out." His father set the huge fork down, and turned to face him a little better. "I still wish some days that you'd been a lawyer, but... CSI. You seem happy there."

"Dad, I couldn't be a lawyer. They screwed me over too much after the Duty thing. Besides... I've always been a hands on kinda guy." Jim shrugged a little. "I may go back to being a cop sometime, but right now I'm happy in CSI. It helps they're all a great team. Best set of babysitters around."

That got a laugh out of his father. "And when I ask Gil about them, all he can talk about is science. All Catherine can talk about is bureaucracy and paperwork and the insanity of the town. I have no idea how any of you can hold a conversation. It's all over my head."

"You fall into it. You see weirder sh-stuff in Vegas in a week than I did in all my time in Jersey," Jim replied. "Between all of us we add pieces to the puzzle. Since Gil started, Vegas lab stats have gone way up. Cath is lead supervisor and we've got more publications from our shift than the others put together."

Gil had even put out a new insect related one, on urban blowflies of all things. He was a little more interested in trying to get Lindsay to like bugs, and he'd been working hard since she was a baby to make them acceptable to her -- stuffed insect toys, lots of butterflies, and for her birthday, he'd gotten her some caterpillars that he'd set up in a terrarium so she could see cocoons and see them hatch and fly outside. 

They tried not to talk about when she'd smushed his tarantula. He hadn't even gotten angry because it was his fault for having taken her out of the tank in the first place, or so Gil had said.

Not many tarantulas ended up buried out in the backyard.

One thing was sure, Lindsay was going to be the only kid in school who knew bugs by their scientific names.

"Well, you're doing okay for yourself," his father said. "So is Gil. Lindsay ensures the Brass line continues and you can do what you want."

Jim poked at the cooking meat and took a deep breath. "Yeah about that.... I've got something to ask you."

He was used to that look where Gil cocked his head as if to say 'yes?' instead of the wary look on his father's face and the raised eyebrow. "Go on. Ask."

"I want to marry Gil." Jim said. "I know there hasn't been a legal male Benefactor to male Companion marriage, but that's just because no one has been bothered to circumvent the maze of legality."

His father was looking at him like he was crazy for a moment, and then he craned his head to watch where Gil was running the hose into the poor. "He'll always be a Companion, even if you do marry him, Jim. He'll always be your property. I know that makes you uncomfortable, but if that's why you want to do it..."

"No, Dad, I checked. Under the new marriage rights bill, he’ll be legally entitled to the same rights as any other male-male marriage if you as the Family Patriarch sign that we have fulfilled the Benefactor duty of providing an Heir," Jim said. "I know you don't understand, Dad, but I know what it feels like to be less than property, okay? And it's important to me to know that Gil is with me because he loves me and not because he's my Companion and it's a Duty. I've done a lot of things for Duty and I don't want staying with me to be something he hates."

"Somehow, I don't think he will. He's not going to just... leave you, you know." Jim watched his dad watch Gil and Lindsay and Catherine, and then he finally met Jim's eyes again. "So don't push at him to see if he'll go, all right? You'd just break his heart."

"I won't. But I want him to be my husband," Jim answered. "Didn't you want that with Mom? Well, not to be your husband, but to be married?"

"Mmm, I did. Do. And I'm not saying that I won't sign the documentation, Jim. Just..." Richard smiled at him. "Just let yourself be happy. And be comfortable with the reality that the title change from Companion to Husband won't make much difference in Gil's mind. It's more for your sake than his, and it was the same way when I married your mother."

"He'll understand," Jim replied. "He knows why I have problems. It's not that I hate Companion-roles, not like before but... it's about having choices. Giving them back. Sometimes things are stronger because you choose to stay when you could've gone."

And even if it didn't make sense to anyone else in the whole world, it made sense to him. He could be a little less scared in day-to-day life that someone could hurt Gil and not owe anything to justice but some money. Gil was... worth so much more to him than any dollar amount. He wasn't comfortable with a dollar amount being placed on a life, or the fact that Gil was worth slightly over a million in restitution based on his qualifications and his state of health according to Jim's yearly update on the matter. Which he was given for tax purposes.

"I have to agree with you there, Jim. All right. I'll sign. Could I guess that you have the paperwork with you?"

"I do. But I think it can wait until after we've burnt the chicken and steaks a little more." He smiled to himself. Besides he'd left the rings in the car. He'd had them engraved with the Brass brand symbol and Gil's own unique brand. Gil might understand how important this was for him, but Jim understood how important that symbol was to Gil. He was sure his Companion would see the relevance. When all was said and done, for all the 'exciting' legal precedence they would set, and the furor in the Benefactor community, this was about him and Gil and making it so they belonged to each other rather than the Companion just to him.

"After dinner," his father agreed, peering sideways at his family again. "So have you told Gil?"

"We haven't discussed it recently. He treats it like an eccentric hobby I have,” Jim replied with a smile. "He can always say no, I guess."

“I doubt he would. Companions always have an ear to the ground about their Benefactor's best interests." Richard clapped him on the back. "I'm going to go rescue the macaroni salad before your mother stirs it to death. She's probably eavesdropping, and who knows what she's half-heard."

"Don't worry, when it comes to the word marriage, Mom's never misheard," Jim said. "Thanks, Dad."

Richard hesitated and then leaned in to hug him briefly. "Don't thank me. I'm not the one who'll say 'yes' to you that matters." And then he pulled back, so it didn't linger too long and get weird, and he headed back into the house. Actually if he knew his mother, she was getting pictures of Lindsay through the window blinds so she had a record of her granddaughter not hamming it up for a camera.

Lindsay had a habit of doing that and Gil could be just as bad, though he preferred to be the one in control of filming. He looked up at Gil who was filling the pool with a garden hose and flicking the water out at Lindsay who was trying to run away, or towards him, inevitably pulling Catherine into the line of fire. He could hear the good-natured threats to Gil's job if he carried on like that and he smiled, watching them.

Like he always did, Gil seemed to know when Jim was watching him.

Gil turned his head a little, peered over at him and smirked for a second before he went back to what he was doing, quiet acknowledgment that he knew Jim was still there and watching him. The only time he could get away with watching Gil unobserved was if he was sleeping. Sometimes even then he'd watch Gil's mouth curve into that soft half smirk as if he was fully aware of what he was doing. He'd never watched Janice sleep. He found the words I love you pretty easy to say, because he realized that when he'd said them before he hadn't been talking about real love.

He moved the chicken from the hot part of the grill. Maybe they'd do this at their place now they had got their yard under control. Invite the team around, their own family. Laugh as Lindsay wrapped Warrick around her little fingers, as none of them could work out who was the bigger kid, Sanders or their little girl. There was Family and there was family. Both were important.

Blood and water versions. Jim was pretty fond of the non-blood type of family, of his Vegas family. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea. Maybe the next time that most of the team could at least show up at some point during the day. He prodded at the steaks, but they weren't cooking as fast as the chicken. Probably because it was thinner meat.

Gil had abandoned the hose to Catherine, and wandered over toward Jim. "Hey. Need any help?"

"I can burn meat pretty well," Jim murmured reaching out a spare arm to hook him in. "But any interference is welcome."

He wasn't really surprised that Gil reached to take the fork from him, and he slid an arm around Jim's waist. "Good. You were looking pretty sneaky over here for a while. Keep that up and Lindsay's going to think she's getting a pony."

“She needs a pony when she persuades the both of us to crawl around on hands and knees?" Jim said with mock surprise. "Besides, some moments of sneakiness aren't about her."

"Oh yeah?" There was that half smirk again, like Gil had his suspicions, but he didn't say it. He just prodded at one steak. "I think these are just about done."

“Yeah. Time to eat, you think?" The sooner they ate, the sooner he could go to the car, and maybe when they were watching fireworks later, he could ask him and let the light glitter over gold.

Gil would say yes. It wasn't a worry, and his dad was right. He sometimes woke up after Gil and found him just staring down and smiling like he'd been willing Jim to wake up. He was pretty sure that if Gil was unhappy, he would've noticed. He was pretty sure that he noticed a lot about Gil -- when work left him with sore muscles and when he had a migraine and when he just wanted to go get Lindsay from the night-care daycare and hug her after a bad day.

"I think so. Lindsay wants chicken, and to eat in the pool. Catherine is bartering with her about that now."

"Oo that's definitely Mom stuff. That's multitasking she's talking about doing there and we're just men. Linear thinkers, you know,” Jim said amused.

“That's me not thinking of a good reason to say no," Gil groaned a little, turning his head to press his face against Jim's hair. He went a little still. "Your parents are watching us through the Venetian blinds. Why are they peeking through the blinds?"

"They think I'm asking you something," Jim murmured. "But it's difficult because there's something necessary to the asking in the car." He smiled at Gil and kissed him again. Let the steaks burn.

"Can I get a hint or should we not speak of it until after dinner?" Yeah, Gil had a guess because he was smiling when Jim kissed him.

"Well you know, it should involve romance, and fireworks and good timing," Jim murmured. "Signatures and the end of a long standing hobby..."

"Oh." It was a drawn-out oh, and Gil squeezed Jim's side. "Then I won't pry again and we can wait for the fireworks."

Jim turned to him, into that touch. "Maybe I can give you an advance on the fireworks, Gil Brass," he murmured and leaned in for a serious kiss. A kiss with promises in amongst the pleasure. When he surfaced for air he said softly. "You'll always belong to me, Gil. The difference being, I'll belong to you, too. You can't steal something when it's a gift, can you?"

"No, not if someone gives it to you first." Gil's fingers stroked a little, too aware of the audience and Catherine and Lindsay. "I'd like to have you belong to me."

"Save that up for later and act surprised," Jim said in a murmur. "Just as well we're staying in a hotel tonight huh?" With champagne, and every extravagance he could think of. Gil deserved to have it done right even if it was just so he could laugh at everything.

Gil would probably laugh at it, too, but he'd enjoy it, and he leaned in to kiss Jim one last time. "Yeah, it is. Or your parents wouldn't get any sleep at all. Get the steaks off, I'll help your parents set the table."

He grinned, knowing there would be question about why Daddy Jim was smiling so much and he'd have to say something about it being a nice day, his family there, all the people he loved best in the world there. It was one of the first times he had smiled on the Fourth of July. Before Gil, before Lindsay and his new family, he had spent the day drink to the memories of everyone he'd lost in his own battle for independence. Today was the first time he hadn't felt guilt about being happy and alive when they weren't. It was the first time he was going to let himself be happy, guilt free, and it made him want to laugh and propose to Gil every day for the rest of his life if this was what it felt like.

In some ways, he guessed, that was what marriage was all about if it was the real thing. He and Gil were definitely the real thing whether they were Companion and Benefactor living up to a Duty lost in the mists of time, or just two men who got lucky when they chose each other out of all the possibilities there were in the world.

* * *


End file.
